A NORMAL LIFE
by Bonpetitepoodles
Summary: Christine Daae prayed daily for the chance at a normal life. Worlds apart, another entity would literally murder for their chance at one. The scary part was... would it be her he was willing to kill? Updated. AU Modern Leroux Erik.
1. Chapter 1

A NEW LIFE

Prologue

Arms akimbo, Nadir Kahn stared aghast at the expensive, India ink splattering his new blue Armani suit. A sharp crack immediately filled the tense atmosphere. Ducking, he felt metal scrape his skull as the remaining parts of a fountain pen lodged in the wall behind him.

Cautiously straightening up, he rubbed his head. In his peripheral vision, Nadir noticed that the new man, Darius, had not been so lucky. The fresh recruit lay sprawled on the carpet, nervously dabbing his dark cheek. An Etruscan vase had left tiny cuts, and if Nadir had his guess, an inevitable bruise would follow.

"We are on an Indian Reservation not the ever-loving C.I.A. headquarters. No one would have seen the pair of you. You could have played tiddly-winks with the target in the amount of time you wasted," the voice murmured. Nadir shivered, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The owner of that voice was at his most dangerous when it was under control.

"Not one single man or woman is willing to discuss 'The Angel', even under duress." Nadir wiped at his ruined pants with a wilted handkerchief.

Twirling in his leather chair, exposing a broad back to the other men, the voices' owner placed pale hands behind his head. Perusing the fourth story window he queried, "I trust you have already disposed of the body?"

Darius stood to his feet, hard put to keep an expressionless face. "Yes, but boss we can't kill the entire village!"

In a heartbeat, cold fingers wrapped painfully around Darius' throat. "Ah, Mr. Santiago, your lack of faith saddens me," the silky voice hissed.

Eyes bulging, Darius frantically pried at long, thin fingers while his feet slowly left the floor. Excruciating pressure exploded in his chest. Tortured lungs desperately fought for air as his vision began to fade.

"Release him before you do some damage, we need him," Nadir mopping his forehead, quietly reminded his long-time friend.

Seething, the voice released the coughing man dropping him down on his backside. "Then make sure he does his job, Kahn. We don't have long before Interpol infiltrates this area. And when they do, I intend on being long gone."

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

The Secret is out.

"You look like you could sleep a week, go home and I'll finish up here."

"Won't have to tell me twice," Dr. Raoul Chaney stretched long arms above his sun-bleached head. Bending backward he groaned. Stifling a yawn, he proceeded to hang his lab coat on an antique clothes hook in his office.

Surveying the faded room, Raoul loosed a satisfied smile. Thanks to Christine, this worn, faded clinic was the best in the Indian Nations. It could top some state-side.

He glanced over at his companion. She continued to balance delicately on a rickety office chair. Her unusual-colored dark hair was in a chignon filled with various pencils. The woman was oblivious to the mischievous curls trying to escape their confines.

Humming a contemporary tune, she deftly shut down the clinic's computer, aptly named Methuselah.

"How can you be so perky after a busy day like today? I have yet to understand," Raoul teased as he ambled to the rear of the room. Shaking his head, he checked the back door alarm. Unlocked again. Nurse Christine Daae seemed to never remember it.

"My day has just begun. Its dusk and I still have to set up for tomorrow's Obstetrics Clinic." She smiled lopsidedly at her dearest friend.

Raoul frowned, deepening the grooves that lined his concerned eyes. "Let Miriam do that for once, Christine." Sighing, he decided to broach the elephant in the room. "Aren't you a little worried about the rumors?"

Rubbing her temples, Christine groused, "Unless pigs fly, I am not going to uproot my life again. I'm getting too old. If I am exposed, the Cherokee will have to deal with it. Maybe they'll be like others and think it preposterous anyway. Remember it took an earthquake to convince you of the situation's validity in Peru."

Ignoring Raoul's disgruntled snort, she pat his arm, watching the emotions chase across her friend's expressive, open face.

Murmuring contritely, Christine reached up to muss his immaculate hair, noting the silver streaks that highlighted the yellow. "Besides, we both know I can't take you with me if I have to go. Who could I trust to watch after Connie? She has a career now. That baby has endured a lifetime of servitude with a missionary nurse for a mother. It is her time to shine."

"What about Meg," Raoul asked.

Christine smiled at the thought of her bubbly friend Meg. "She can't do it by herself, Raoul." Christine giggled, "Our international model is chasing some hot Baron, as we speak."

Raoul decided to resume and old disagreement. The nervous doctor took a deep breath. He wanted, no, he needed to spill forth his speech. After all, he had mentally practiced it for a lifetime.

Taking her delicate hands in one of his warm ones, he held them close to his heart. Tilting her chin up, he searched her brown eyes. "You know how I feel, Christine. We aren't children shyly trying out first kisses anymore. Heck, we aren't even young adults for that matter. I was furious with Father for moving to Paris. When I finally made it back, you had married and disappeared.

"When we met again in Peru, well, I just knew it was fate." He lightly rubbed her chin with his thumb. "Is it Gaston? He has been gone for twenty-two years. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to stay alone forever. Christine, I may have some wear on me but..."

Christine placed a small, pink-nailed finger across Raoul's lips. As she looked into his earnest, hurt eyes, she felt tears well up in her own. "I know that Gaston wouldn't have wanted me to stay alone. He was an unselfish young man. He's not the reason I avoid commitment. Connie enabled me to move on easier than I would have. Life has a way of sneaking up on a person when there is a child."

Looking down to avoid his blue eyes, she gently pulled her hands from his grasp. Absently, she began to fiddle with a button on Raoul's shirt. A blush fanned up her neck to adorn her cheeks. "You don't know the times I almost... asked you to come home with me, Raoul." She rapidly spoke.

Bemused, he reached down for her chin once more. Cupping her face, he softly asked, 'Why didn't you?"

Making love like that would be just as dangerous as a long-term commitment." She murmured as she tilted her face into his hand. Christine allowed herself to stay that way for a couple of minutes. Oh, just to enjoy Raoul's familiar, safe arms around her. What would forever be like in his arms?

Catching a whiff of his cologne, she felt a protective urge shoot through her. Sadly, she pushed him away. "I watched Papa spend the rest of his life keeping 'his girls' safe, Raoul. I can't do that to you. This world isn't such a big place anymore.

"Satellites, G.P.S., triple agents, D.N.A. and witness protection have narrowed its confines. There is almost no place left to hide. Life out there is like a science fiction movie. For a marriage, I have to want you beside me no matter what the consequences. I can't do that. I won't watch you be hurt or imprisoned for my sake."

With great effort, Raoul held his tongue.

"I have been selfish too long. The biggest example? I kept my baby beside me. I didn't want some government foster-care watching over her. She followed me through jungles, deserts...you name it. Was it a wrong decision? I don't know. What I do know is: At this stage of the game, I can't protect my mature child from what life will hurl her way.

"It was a major effort on my part to decide that Connie would be safer if we split up. As a star, her life will be under the media microscope; the paparazzi will make it obvious that a mother-figure is nowhere around. What better place than to hide her in plain sight? No one will think to question the need for body guards."

"General Daae wouldn't have wanted you living alone, Christine!"

"Au contraire. Things were closing in. Papa very much knew I would be alone in this world, except maybe for the Angel of Music."

Raoul felt himself relax, a smile reluctantly twitched at his lips. He didn't understand it, but true relaxation was a luxury given to him by Christine alone. With the slightest of touches she seemed to make the world fade away. "You still believe in that old story of the General's?"

She playfully smacked at his arm. "I remember a tow-headed boy, who sat at his feet begging for more 'dark stories of the north,'" she reminisced.

"Ah, those times were a feast of the senses. Sweet chocolate that melted in your mouth. First class violin concertos to fall asleep by, best of all, were his stories about the escapades of Little Lotte," Raoul sighed. "Those were the days."

Christine giggled, "Don't forget one drowned rat that pulled my red scarf from the sea…"

The couple twirled around, startled, as the walls suddenly reverberated. The front door had crashed open, forcing the metal knob to sink into the brittle drywall raising a puff of white dust. Two sweaty, limping men rushed in. They awkwardly carried a copiously bleeding, unconscious youth between them.

Recognizing the men, Christine reacted first-directing them into the nearest examining room. Raoul followed.

The two battered men laid their burden down on the stretcher. Christine gasped. The youth was her neighbor, Jackson Man Bear! His compatriots were Leon Two Panthers and Michael Hawk.

"What happened? Jackson is a good kid who always avoids fights!" Observing the carnage, she groaned, "Raoul, he is just fifteen years old!"

"They took a two-by-four to his legs, Angel," Michael gasped, running over to the sink to spit out a tooth.

"Shh… don't call her that," Growled Raoul, as he opened the boy's eyelids. The Cherokee people's tendency to call her Angel ran over his spine like nails on a chalkboard. With professional ease, he moved his flashlight beam from one eye to the other.

"Are either of you hurt badly," Christine asked, while efficiently taking the patient's blood pressure.

With great dignity, and a glare at Raoul, Leon Two Panthers stated, "We will live, Angel, just see to Jackson."

"Who? Who did this, Leon?"

"Death did this, Dr. Chaney. He has already visited Brian Deer-Tracker. Michael and I left right after tonight's council meeting. We happened to hear Jackson moaning in the woods behind the library. It looks like he and Brian put up one hell of a fight. Whoever it was would've killed us too, but I guess we were left as a message. When I woke up, Brian's body had disappeared, and Jackson was fading fast."

A gurgling gasp erupted from Jackson. "Run..."

"Don't talk, Mr. Two Bears, we have to get you to the city hospital. Christine call an ambulance," Raoul ordered tersely.

Jackson flailed his blood soaked hair. "No… he… wants Angel."

Within a nano-second Jackson's body stiffened and began to twitch in the throes of a seizure. The boy stopped as suddenly as he started, eyes staring into space. Raoul felt for a carotid pulse. "No pulse!" Placing his hands over the boy's heart he ordered, "Pull the crash cart over here!"

Ignoring Raoul, Christine wiggled to the head of the gurney and placed her hands on either side of Jackson's face.

"Christine, have you lost it? We need to shock him now or we won't revive him! You men bring me that cart!" Raoul was beginning to pant as he compressed the boy's chest. "I need the ambu bag! Christine! I could use some help here!"

Instead of bringing the defibrillator, Leon and Michael started to eerily chant an ancient death dirge. Christine simultaneously lowered her forehead to Jackson's. Raoul almost forgot to keep up the compressions when a brilliant, white light drifted up from under the gurney. Fog like, it swirled to encompass Jackson and himself. Unable to see, the other men stopped chanting. They strained and pulled at sore leg muscles, it was if they were frozen to the floor.

Raoul began to growl like a bear. The frustrated braves could hear the doctor's teeth grind together. The stretcher began to shimmy as the fog began to dissipate. Raoul yelled in alarm when his arms began to jerk.

Unable to tear his hands from Jackson, Raoul felt white-hot pain scorch his palms. Leon and Michael's feet loosened, enabling them to back up, knocking over equipment in their haste. To their horror, a jolt of blue colored electricity emerged from Jackson's chest. It rapidly circled up Raoul's arm. The light writhed and twisted, resembling a cobra. The snake hissed and struck repeatedly at the frantic doctor.

Thrown from the patient to the floor, the panicked man rolled to his feet. Rubbing his eyes, Raoul had the presence of mind to decide; despite the hallucination, to bring the crash cart himself!

Leon grasped Raoul's shoulders in an iron grip. As the doctor started to struggle, the muscled brave placed a light choke-hold on him. Once he had Raoul's attention, he nodded toward the patient in awe. "You might want to see this, Dr. Chaney."

Raoul gasped. Christine! Oh my God, he had forgotten Christine! Was she alright? Once he had his bearings, his shoulders sagged in relief. She appeared unharmed still forehead to forehead with Jackson. Her doe-like brown eyes continued to stay closed with dark lashes leaving crescent shadows on her ashen cheeks.

Eyes squeezed shut, mouth moving in silent supplication; Christine lifted her head. She seemed oblivious to the patient's blood smeared across her face. Sliding along the stretcher the nurse placed her red-stained fingers over the boy's heart.

With a phlemic gasp, Jackson's eyes jerked open. His chest began to rise and fall in a predictable rhythm. Christine shakily left his chest to run her hands down his sides. She cringed when she felt what was left of human legs. Bones protruded in several places, skin was missing, and his feet twisted at odd angles.

Sliding to his knees, Raoul watched grim-lipped. So the rumors in Peru were true. He observed the scene playing out before him in an almost catatonic state. The patient's protruding bones, coupled with wet sucking sounds, moved! Raoul grimaced as high-pitched squelching noises, like a boot stuck in the mud, emitted from the patient's ankles. He nearly vomited with anxiety, as the bones slowly slid back into the twisted limbs. Cyanotic, cold feet righted themselves, limbs that minutes ago look like they needed amputation, straightened.

The doctor's disbelieving eyes watched as blood thickened to inch like caterpillars, crawling to return and fill open gashes. Horrific, deep, knife wounds closed, resembling puddles drying in the summer sun. Keening and squeaking in a rodent-like pitch, black clots fell out. They shimmied like jello, rolling across the floor as if tossed by an unseen hand. The clots stopped short of Christine, resembling birds flying into a brick wall. Jackson's long, black hair gained a healthy sheen.

Blood splattered and weaving, Christine leaned wearily against the wall and whispered, "Amen."

Jackson Man Bear once again, in a stronger voice urged, "Run Angel Run. They are close."

Leon hurriedly limped over to push the front door closed, then locked it. Dropping the blinds, he spoke softly. "She can't go outside, too much time has passed. They could be anywhere. Michael, you take her to the rooftops and leave that way. I will stay here." Looking at everyone, he grimly suggested, "We all need to say I alone brought Jackson in to Dr. Chaney."

The men looked at Raoul and he nodded. Jackson held his hand out to Christine, reaching out she placed it between both of hers. "Thank-you." He said solemnly.

She weakly smiled at him. It was happening again! Despite her earlier conviction, she couldn't let anything else hurt these people. Panic momentarily gnawed at her stomach, causing her legs to feel rubbery. On the run again. She was alone. Utterly, irrevocably alone. She couldn't rely on her father's knowledge this time.

A half sob stuck in her chest. Would she ever be able to live a normal life? "Raoul…Connie?" Christine implored, eyes begging.

Still trying to process what he had seen, Raoul grasped her shoulders. "Go Christine, I will watch her with my life." The blond man kissed the top of her head. Determinedly he opened the closet. Encased inside was the rooftop ladder. "Take care of her Mr. Hawke. Christine how will I know you are alright?"

Christine grimaced, "It could be a while, but I'll contact you, Raoul. When this calms down, talk to Connie, she unfortunately, has been through this."

"I hate to break this up, but you two need to hurry," Leon urged.

Michael climbed ahead, the group below heard the ensuing groan of the trap door. Raoul lifted a trembling Christine up past the first floor ceiling.

Leon Two Panthers watched stoically, muscled arms crossed. Darting a look at Raoul he mused under his breath, "The fact is... you may indeed have to give your life, Doc. We all might. The Angel's protection is imperative, at all costs."

While watching Christine's feet disappear, Raoul shook his burning hands. Dr. Chaney ordered in a detached voice, "Leon, now we have to make Jackson look like he is dead once again…and while we are at it: explain to me what just went on. Did pigs just fly?"


	2. Chapter 2 Now You see Me, Now you dont

**Hello everyone, all you who have read the first chapter, I have tweaked it a little. You might want to re-read it. By the way I don't own the Phantom of the opera in any way-shape-or form. I just own this storyline. A heads up: there may be mature chapters later.  
**

CHAPTER TWO

Now you see me, Now you don't!

Christine's blood soaked uniform shoes couldn't keep traction, her feet slipped with each step. Michael reached down to help her climb the metal rungs to the roof. Dark eyes searching, he whispered for her to crouch. They were in luck; it was a balmy, moonless night. Replacing the trap door, he motioned for Christine to stay still. Dropping down, he crab-crawled to the end of the roof.

The clinic, a product of the sixties, was part of a small strip-mall sharing space with the barber shop, grocery store and several souvenir shops. The building boasted only a three-foot gap between roofs.

Christine swallowed bile, as perspiration gathered on her brow. Did she ever tell anyone she hated heights? At the braves' signal, she began to crawl on hands and knees. Ignoring the roofing that bit into her palms, she followed his lead. Hawke agilely hopped over the space, reached out to clasp her arm, and pulled her quietly over.

At the end, the barber shop had a rusty, metal fire escape in back. Silently the two ducked, taking a step at a time. Christine bit her lip tasting blood each time the metal groaned.

Michael wished he hadn't been so stubborn about cell phones now. They could sure use one. What ever was out there was more than likely monitoring the one Christine carried. Dodging across the back parking lot they crouched behind the dumpster. Eyes alert they zigzagged, disappearing into the darkened forest.

"I know they could be there waiting, but I have to go home and grab some important papers," Christine whispered. Listening to the wind in the trees and looking for out-of-place shadows, Michael nodded his understanding. If the thugs had night vision or heat sensitive equipment they were dead ducks anyway.

Deciding to ignore the footpath through the woods, the limping Cherokee brave led her away from the lights of the village. Michael held leaves and branches aside so Christine could pass quietly. She could feel greenery brushing against her. She fought to refrain from squashing a biting mosquito, setting her chin against the itch: She silently promised the insect retribution later, absently adding calamine lotion to the list of things she needed to get.

The occasional call of a screech-owl, coupled with the chirping of night-bugs was a welcome sign that Michael Hawk and she were alone. A twenty-minute trip soon turned into forty-five and her small house was in sight.

"Key." Michael whispered, holding out his hand. He motioned for Christine to hide behind an ancient oak. Complying, she watched him disappear behind the house. She couldn't see nor hear him as he explored the perimeter.

Within minutes he returned, taking her arm. Once inside the darkened house, Christine scurried up the stairs to her bedroom. Opening the closet she pulled back a piece of faded, rose papered paneling and retrieved a small, black, vinyl bag. Replacing the paneling, she grabbed a backpack and started stripping off her uniform.

Michael frowned, confused at the older Indian woman creeping down the stairs. He knew for a fact the nurse lived alone. Silently blowing through his lips, he relaxed. A backpack rested across her slim shoulders. On second glance, the long skirt and calico shirt hung awkwardly on Christine's petite figure. When she reached the landing, he picked up the graying braids and grinned.

'Ouch. The jerks sure packed a punch. He needed to remember not to smile.' Michael realized.

Holding out his hand he grasped the backpack. Placing it on his shoulders he inwardly smirked. It wouldn't do for an elderly woman to carry one of these. Man was it heavy! "What do you have in here, rocks?" He found the energy to quip.

Looking around, his eyes turned troubled, "Should we set the place on fire?"

Christine crossed her eyes and answered, "You watch too much television. They would really know I intended on getting the 'heck out of Dodge', then. With nothing disturbed they may have to use some manpower to watch the house. They will consider it a good possibility I might come back to retrieve something.

"What now then, Christine?" Michael lifted a curtain to peer outside.

"A group similar to Homeland Security has a temporary safe house for me. I hate to keep you in danger, but could you get me to Alan Berkley?"

Michael's brows furrowed. "The drunk mechanic? He can't even help himself."

Christine smiled mirthlessly. "Things aren't always as they seem."

Without a glance back, Christine walked out of her residence, another one in a long line, with no end in sight.

"I have a truck, but we could be spotted at this time of night leaving the village. There is rarely any traffic until later." Michael offered.

Christine grinned, earning a grimace from Michael. She had blackened a couple of her perfect teeth. "Lead me on; I know just what to do."

* * *

"You sure this will work?" Huddled under a whiskey soaked blanket, Michael wasn't happy. Christine slid into the driver's seat, her diminutive legs barely reaching the clutch.

"You just act drunk as a skunk, and leave the rest to me." She answered confidently. In seconds the older Ford started, and she backed out of the drive. Michael relaxed; she hadn't even ground the gears.

"I don't want to insult your ride, Michael, but it sure drives better than it looks."

The long-suffering man placed his aching head against the window. "I don't have Alan working on it, I can tell you that."

Christine made a moue, as she surveyed his swollen lip and blackened eye. "I'm glad you aren't hurt any worse than you are, but being roughed up a little helps you look the part."

The young man, curled his lip and dryly replied, "Hardy har, har, some Angel you are."

Christine's knotted her brows. Checking the rearview mirror she asked, "Why do you call me that?"

Michel surveyed the petite woman beside him. She really could pass for his grandmother in her get-up. Feisty but frail. Sighing, he answered, "For years, it was a well-known fact that if you wanted to survive, you went to the city for medical care. That is, unless you had a splinter or a cold. Everyone knew to avoid the clinic by all means. Any Cherokee with sense knew that. Then Dr. Chaney arrived. You could definitely see a change in the care provided and a lot of us began to hope for quick emergency access.

"As an example, during this time the P. and N. Company started building the new casino, several were happy of new, higher paying jobs, but what made it lucrative, the owner had each worker take a physical, even insisting that they see an eye doctor and dentist. This in turn added to Dr. Chaney's good reputation. I hear he is recruiting a dentist and an eye doctor.

"Then you arrived with your daughter. No one knew you, but our over protective Medicine-Man, Robert Man Bear, Jackson's, grandfather, insisted you live in the village like family. What was even more strange, was the fact you knew our good doc.

"Word got out that Connie auditioned to star in that new television show; and faster than greased lightning, she was gone, just like that." Michael snapped his fingers. "Kept the gossips busy, and the young bucks sad. I never had the pleasure of her acquaintance.

"You know, the local Medicine Man is almost like a priest; if you have something to discuss, he will not divulge it to anyone. Robert kept hearing how much the clinic had changed once you started working there. He kept an informal record. There were fewer infections and fewer hospital admissions. I'm not proud of the statistics, but strangest of all, fewer drunken men to go home to their wives and sober up. How does that happen in one visit?"

Christine braked at a stop sign and Michael waved his hand. "Make a left here. Most of us are Christian, but our ancestors come from a long line of oral tradition and the practice of magic. People started to filter in to Robert, speaking of things unspoken for generations."

Christine's shoulders tensed, she could see where Michael's story was going.

"There are things both good and bad that surround us every day. I have even seen them. Of course, I don't tell you white folk, I don't like being called crazy."

"What kind of things, Michael." Christine checked her mirror to find headlights coming up behind them.

"Oh, shadows where there shouldn't be, voices in the mist, Ravens cawing over a sick person's house…" Michael began to huddle sleepily under the blanket. "You've heard of Kalona Ayeliski I presume, since you are a nurse in an Indian health care facility? You know, the Angel of Death?" He yawned.

The car behind them sped up and started to pass them. "Idiots. This road is eat-up with blind curves." Michael growled, as Christine geared down. The official looking car flashed its' lights and cut them off.

Tires squealing and brakes smoking, Christine stopped, muttering softly, "In character, Michael, whatever happens, stay in character."

An uniformed officer stepped up to the window, motioning for Christine to roll it down. In a cracked, garbled voice, Christine queried, "Something wrong officer?"

The squat, balding man shined his light into the cab, letting the beam rest on the reposing Michael. He wrinkled his nose at the liquor smell. "I am checking for an escaped prisoner, may I see your driver's license?"

"Sure thing officer, let me find it in my pocketbook" Christine dug around in a dilapidated purse. "I'm taking my grandson home. He drank one too many Jack Daniels... again, and now he won't be wanting to show up for work tomorrow… again. That's all the men round here want to do, get drunk. Don't know what we wimmen folk are suppose to do with drunk husbands and drunk sons."

The officer sputtered and tried to interrupt her tirade, switching his weight from foot to foot.

"Ahh, here it is!"Christine pulled a license from the purse. "You know you are on Cherokee property don't 'cha? You're supposed to let the Reservation Police handle matters like this. If they can. Most of them are soused too." Christine smiled, in order to display her blackened teeth.

The policeman shuddered, but Christine continued on. "But never you mind none, a fine strapping man like you never gets drunk on his woman, I bet.

"Why don't you follow me home, I have a possum pie warming in the oven. You can help me get Jr. here into bed, and we can sit on the love seat and watch some television. I'm one of the lucky ones, I get five whole channels."

The officer took a quick glance at her license then reached out to hand it back. Christine let her hand linger on his, "You know, I likes me a bald man. Like that Yul Brenner, fellow. Find them right sexy, if you know what I mean?"

The uniformed man swallowed, wiping his hand on his trousers. He handed her a business card. "Looks like things are in order here. Here is my card, call me if you see a strange man lurking about."

"You sure you don't want to take me up on my invite?"

The man smiled sickly, shaking his head. "Can't be doing things like that on duty, Mam."

"Well, o.k. then. Thanks for doing your job officer. It's nice to know there are men with morals out in this cold, ole world." Christine started the truck, put her blinker on and eased to the pavement. As she passed the officer, she gave him a beatific, black-toothed smile.

Christine hissed at the snorting, giggling pile of blankets. Michael popped his head out enough to snicker, "And I thought Connie was the actress! 'I just loves me a bald man'!" He mimicked.

"You are slap-happy." Christine tossed the card into his lap. "Bet the number is invalid. Creep." She smiled wanly at Michael's renewed laughter. "Off to Berkley's we go. Oh, you didn't finish your story."

Michael gave a weary sigh. "If you don't mind, go ahead and drive, Don't think I'm going to get much of an explanation anyway. I'll finish later after I catch twenty winks. My head feels like someone tap-danced on it."

Christine nodded to herself, let him sleep. Hopefully, he would sleep through her departure.

.


	3. Chapter 3 Clear As Mud

CHAPTER THREE

Everything is Clear As Mud

Christine hated to, she really hated to, but she didn't know which road to take. She needed to wake Michael up. So much for a smooth exit. Stopping the truck she reached over and shook her passenger.

Michael Hawk could almost swear he had swallowed a whole box of cotton. He sniffed the over powering odor of Jack Daniels, and groaned. This feeling was familiar. It was what followed an all-nighter. Ouch, his eye! Cautiously his fingers examined the offending appendage. He had a shiner? Yep, he definitely felt like something the cat drug in and forgot about. Smacking his dry lips, he reached under the blanket to scratch his chest.

"Michael. Wake up!" A feminine voice commanded. Oh boy, who was this chick driving his truck? Her voice sounded nice, but oh-my-gosh, he must have been plastered last night. She was as old as his grandma. What was Charlie thinking, letting him leave with her? Good thing he woke up before they got home. Michael shuddered.

"If you don't wake up, you'll probably be castrated by noon!"

That did it. Everything came flooding back. Sitting up, he mumbled, "Sorry, Christine."

"I don't know where to go from here, and I can't tell too much in the dark," She sighed.

"Lucky for you, we're almost there. Just make a right and Alan's Garage is a mile down the road." Michael watched her drive through blurred eyes. "You purposely let me sleep didn't you," he accused.

Christine wrinkled her nose, "Don't know what you mean, Hoss."

"You let me sleep so you wouldn't have to give any answers."

"How strong you feeling, now?" She asked.

"Huh?"

"I need my cell phone destroyed before I make this turn, thought maybe you could turn those big strong arms on it." Christine smiled innocently.

Michael squinted his good eye and puffed his chest out. "Flattery will get you just about anywhere. I've a hammer under the seat though, will that do?"

"Perfect."

With a crash, the first smart-phone she'd ever owned bit the dust. Several ensuing whacks made sure nothing could be salvaged. "That felt empowering," Michael quipped.

Good humor restored, Michael asked, "I know I'm not going to get anywhere with my theory, Christine. But could you answer one question?"

"If I can, Michael."

Michael leaned over and spoke in a sotto voce, "Where you and the Doc playing 'kissy-face' when we interrupted?

"You are sooo bad." She frowned at him, when he chuckled.

Christine spied a ramshackle building surrounded by wrecked cars. A six-foot wooden fence stood in the back. Once she shut off the truck, vicious growls and barks greeted her ears. Unafraid, she grabbed her backpack; opened the door and jumped down.

She squinted. It was so dark, it was hard to tell where the door on the rickety building was. Michael joined her, only to stop in his tracks at the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Anyone with a brain can see it is dark. Anyone with half a brain would've turned right around and got back in that there truck at the sound of this here gun. I'll give you two the benefit of the doubt, now git before I use this here gun on you." A sleep-laden voice spoke through a crack in a window.

"Alan, you lug-head, it's me, Hawke!"

"Well ain't that something. Boy, we live on a Reservation, there's only about three dozen Hawks a keeping house here. Give or take a few."

"This is Michael Hawke. I have a lady here that wants to speak with you."

"When did you start sharing, your piece of pie, Hawke?"

Christine's cheeks flared red in the dark. Michael mumbled, "I always knew he was a crude bugger."

The sound of a rusty lock screeched on the air. "Wanted to see me, did you say. I know she's gotta be drunk hanging out with you, but is she blind too? She'd better be a six, well, no lower than a four, least-wise."

A short, thin man in long handle underwear, sporting a couple of days worth of scraggly beard, stepped out of the building. Using his tongue on his hand he slicked back his oily brown hair.

Michael groaned. "She…"

Red faced, Christine stepped into the light cast by the bare bulb hanging over the door. The mechanic's eyes widened, "Don't just stand there, come in." He grasped Christine's arm and pulled her inside.

"Wait." Ordered Michael, scrambling for Christine's other arm.

"Don't give me any grief, Hawke, get inside!" The mechanics' southern drawl hardened. Michael decided since the man had a gun, well, he'd better comply.

Shutting and locking the myriad of locks on the door, Alan squinted out of the window for several minutes, hands idly caressing the gun.

"I don't see any red dots, guess were ok for a while." He extended his hand to Christine. "Ms. Daae. A pleasure, I'm sure."

Christine couldn't miss Michael's jaw drop at the change in Alan Berkley. The short man's slouch was gone and his voice could rival a college professor.

"What are you doing in such company, may I ask?" Alan glanced between Michael and Christine.

"A mutual friend questioned another friend of ours. He was quite brutal, I might add." Exhausted, Christine plopped down on a dusty chair. "I just don't have a clue which mutual friend did the questioning."

"How much does he know?" Alan jerked his head toward Hawke as he pulled on a pair of jeans.

Christine drew a critical eye across Hawke's injuries. The young man wasn't much older than Connie. She felt guilty for involving another mother's child in her chaotic life. Voice full of regret she answered, "Not much. Poor guy needs some tender loving care, though. His cuts haven't been attended to." Christine stood up and walked behind the confused brave.

"Everything is as clear as mud, Berkley. I don't know anything, except there were four of us ambushed. We took one to the clinic. The nurse here, is as tight-lipped as a mason-jar." Hawke sighed, as Christine started to massage his sore shoulders.

His eyes closed in relief. There was just something about older women. Someone should write a song about them, oh wait, there was a song. Something about older women being beautiful lovers. Hmmm, Christine sure didn't look like the older women he knew.

Michael was aware of his erratic thoughts, but before he could speak, His head began to feel woozy; his body bending to fit inside a multicolored, spinning vortex. Great, someone just flushed him! In seconds he had slumped to the floor.

"Quick, I've an old van out back we can put him in. He can wake up there. I'm sure whoever it is will search the garage first. How long will that 'Spock-Vulcan' hold last? First time I've seen that, though I've been told about it."

Christine opened her mouth to answer, but he said, "Never mind, the dogs will keep anyone away from the van for a while. Did anyone see the two of you?"

Remembering to shut her mouth, Christine grimaced, "A police officer pulled us over, but we put him off." She rummaged through Michael's shirt pocket and found the business card. "It states 'Officer Joseph Bouquet'. His badge said he was a state trooper."

"Probably an alibi. Hawke has to get rid of that truck, then. I'll leave enough money and directions for him to buy a new one the next county over. Guess I'll just stuff it in his pocket. When Nix gets here at seven in the morning, I'll have him crush that wreck outside to the size of a suitcase. Glad I won't be here when Hawke finds his pride and joy gone. Here, you get his feet and help me move him out back. Damn, he's a heavy son-of-a-gun."

* * *

Joseph Bouquet flinched, emitting a frustrated groan when his cell phone rang. 'Unknown number', he should have known. Only one person called him under that guise, and they definitely weren't going to be happy. Heaving a sigh, Joseph answered, "Yes, Boss?" Within seconds, Bouquet paled. "Only people I've seen on the road were a horny old crone and her drunken grandson. Be there in five minutes, Boss."

Tossing the phone on the seat, the nervous man gunned the car. Rubbing his neck absently, he swallowed, unable to shake the unnerving sensation of smooth cat-gut wrapped around his throat.

Joseph immediately recognized the dark car sitting in the shadows of the strip mall. Passing it, he pulled up to the clinic; the lights were still on. Removing his gun from the holster, he stiffly exited the car. Hitching his pants with his unoccupied hand, he entered the glass door. He instantly found the fair-haired doctor hunched over a desk, writing in a chart

"Hello officer, can I help you?" Raoul eyed Bouquet's gun, but returned to his writing. Hopefully, the officer couldn't see his hands shake.

"Heard you had some excitement here tonight. Just coming around to see if all the riffraff cleared. Can't be too careful you know. Place like this probably has narcotics for the taking. You won't mind if I look around?" Not waiting for Raoul to answer, Joseph investigated the examining rooms.

"You're not going to find anybody. As you probably know, around closing time I admitted a young kid; he'd been in a knife fight. While I was working on the boy, whoever it was that brought him in disappeared. I lost the patient. He died about twenty minutes later. You just missed Brown-Estes funeral home, and the reservation police."

"Coroner come?"

"I am the coroner. Elected this past May." Raoul watched as Bouquet recovered from his blunder.

"That's right. It's been a long night already." The man in uniform shook the lock on the drug cabinet and peered into several drawers, sifting through hypodermic syringes. Coming to the utility closet, he idly opened it. Raoul's blood ran cold. Looking around at the brooms and cleaning supplies, Joseph shrugged, oblivious to the ladder covered in wet cleaning rags attached to the wall.

"What's upstairs?" Joseph pointed above his head.

"Tourist trap. You know, genuine moccasins, dream catchers and other Cherokee knickknacks."

"Any way of getting up there from here," Bouquet inquired.

Raoul previously had an hour to fine-tune his story. Tell as close to the truth as you can; was Leon's motto. Nonchalantly he shrugged, "No. Back in the seventies they had a man streak from here up to there. I don't think that was something the tourists had come to see, though I heard some did take pictures.

"The guy caused a serious uproar. He was a Viet Nam vet, and was in and out of here constantly. He'd be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome today. The town council had the stairwell blocked up. If you look closely you can see the different colored dry wall over there." Raoul pointed to his office.

Joseph examined the wall behind Raoul's desk. "I can see the different color here. Looks like you handled it. Too bad about the kid. Want me to escort you home?" Joseph half-heartedly offered.

Inwardly Raoul thanked God that Christine had run out of paint unable to finish that section of wall. "No thanks, my car is outside," he replied.

Bouquet replaced his gun back in the holster. "Well, if you see anyone strange hanging around let me know."

Raoul heaved a sigh as the balding man allowed the door to bang shut behind him.

Casually walking to the black car, Bouquet tried to act like he was going to question the occupants. The back window rolled down a crack. Joseph could feel perspiration dripping down the back of his neck-though the air from the vehicle felt thirty degrees cooler.

He barely made out the dark shadow sitting in the back seat. "Clear, Boss, no sign of a woman. The other brat died, too. They took the kids' body to the Brown-Estes funeral home."

"Go home. I'll handle this." The voice ordered.

The window closed, barely missing his fingers and the driver started off with a crunch of gravel. Joseph jumped back, a curse on his lips. That did it. He busted his chops all night and never got so much as a by-your-leave. He wanted out. The constant threat of having the life choked out of him was making him old quick. Ambling back to the cruiser, he pondered the dilemma. How could he get himself out of the situation he found himself in?"


	4. Chapter 4 Did I say that?

CHAPTER FOUR

Did I say That?

**Author's Note: I'm sorry for the long delay, my husband and I were hit broadside and of course my right arm was hurt. It looks like for a while the chapters will be short. Oh, by the way, I hope my readers understand, that the views stated regarding the American Indians are egocentric to my characters. Indians are not drunks please research! I will not say anymore in the hope that I won't insult anyone.**

Christine shaded her tired eyes with her hand as the Cessna circled the landing site. The dirt runway was short and narrow. The end seemed to chase past the horizon, grasping for the reds and oranges of the setting sun. Directing a quick look at Alan's profile she sighed. He appeared undaunted. Slender shoulders lifted in a shrug, her attention was once again on the dirt track. She had seen worse.

Deciduous forest lined the edges of the over-grown trail. To the right was a rickety, metal building which she assumed was the hangar. The structure's painted camouflage hung in curls off the metal sides, the pitched roof sagged in the middle.

"Doesn't look like much, but it is one of the governments' best kept secrets." Starting the descent, Alan nonchalantly nodded to the back. "Backpacks' are in the rear, you'll want to change out of that get-up and don something a little more bug proof."

With a bounce, and a cloud of red dust, the Cessna rolled to a stop. "Stay here." Alan agilely jumped from the plane to stroll toward the hangar. Cautiously looking inside a dusty window, the pilot pulled a handgun from his neck holster. Crouching low, he slipped inside the darkened interior.

Several minutes quietly passed by; and Alan exited, his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong?" Adrenaline laced with sleep deprivation charged through Christine.

"Nothing I can put a finger on. Guess I should have listened to the higher-ups and taken a desk job. I've gotten jumpy with my old age." Patting the nose of the plane he asked, "Help me pull open the doors, so I can put, Penny, here up for a nap."

Christine slid to her feet and headed for the double doors. With a metallic groan they opened. Standing aside she watched Alan coast into the darkened building. An oppressive silence ensued as Alan cut the motor. Christine closed the hangar doors and waited for the Agent to hand down the backpacks.

"We need to have camp set up by dark." Alan ordered as unashamed, he skimmed out of his shirt. Christine quickly scooped up her pack and walked to the other side of the plane. Stiffly she removed her Indian clothing and replace them with khaki pants and an army issue shirt.

Hearing a scream reverberate above their heads, she dropped her pack in the dirt, slammed painfully to her side; then rolled under the plane. Something crashed into one of the walls, followed by breaking glass.

Alan's head appeared momentarily, and he grinned tightly. "Good to know, I wasn't completely loony, that owl must have been what I was sensing. After that incident, you don't get farther than five feet from me," he ordered.

Christine rolled out from under the plane dusting her pants, "Remind me to cancel my Wildlife Federation, membership."

* * *

Agent Berkley placed the empty meal wrappers in his hiking pack. Staring up at the stars, he groaned sarcastically, "Nothing better than a fireless campsite, makes one feel sooo cozy. So, Christine, how did you end up on the government's 'Most Wanted List', so to speak? I know what the Feds need for me to know, but I want to learn what I can from you."

Christine carefully poked the ground with a stick hoping to route any reptilian visitors. Sitting, her back against a tree, she sighed,"Tell me what you know, and I'll see what I can do."

Offering the exhausted woman a drink from his flask, Alan started, "Well, I know that you are one of only fourteen known of your kind."

Irritated, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Christine glared at him in the dark, "My kind?"

Becoming serious, Alan pulled up a leg and rolled a small twig back and forth on his knee. "A healer. Not one of those Hocus Pocus, knock you on the head and collect the tithes, kind, but a real healer."

"You certainly have a healthy respect for organized religion." Christine groused, as she licked the rest of her candy bar off her fingers.

Alan shrugged. "The United States has nine of your compatriots secluded in a compound. Who knows where? That information is only known to the higher-ups, not a blue security peon like me. Britain has one and Israel has two. They too, are securely squared away in their prospective countries. That leaves two. Yourself, and a man who travels Europe, slickly evading capture these past thirty years, I might add."

"I know you have kept under the wire pretty much, traveling with your late father. Who by the way, was a genius in the United States Air Force Special Services; and your daughter…um Connie? What I don't understand is why you aren't in the compound with the others.

"Of course, if I knew the answers to that question, I would be a white clearance instead of a blue." Alan took another swig from his flask.

"Michael Hawke is on the right track, and that's all I can say, Alan." Christine kneeled to unroll her sleeping bag.

"O.k., I hope you don't mind a more personal question. Why haven't you remarried? You are definitely a handsome woman with a lot of life left in her."

"I married Gaston when I was sixteen; when we found out I was pregnant with Connie. The army reserves went over seas during the Bush administration and he was killed by friendly fire. Coincidently, he died not too long after I found I was the proud owner of this healing gift; or whatever you would want to call it." Christine rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.

"Gaston was so excited about being a father, and never got to meet her. No one could tell me what happened. He was in camp and the only soldier hit.

"During this time, Dad, came to live with me. I worked in an army hospital, and in a few short weeks my charge nurse noticed that not many of my patients passed on.

"Not long after that, in the middle of the night, a couple of men stating they were FBI agents insisted we leave with them. Their reason was they needed to question me and procure more information 'that only I could give them'. They said it was about a patient that did indeed die during my care.

"My father became suspicious and stalled. As far as I'm allowed to say, the good guys showed up, a scuffle ensued, our house torn up, and we 'disappeared' for the first time."

"Still doesn't tell me why you haven't remarried." Alan reminded her, benignly.

Stretching, hoping to change the subject, Christine spoke teasingly, "Haven't found anyone with a cute enough rear-end."

Alan had taken a large drink from his flask, and snorted. The drink caused a bout of coughing.

Christine hit him on the back, hiding a smile. "My bad, did I say that?"

Waiting for him to settle down, she asked, "My turn. I have a feeling you know who was trying to scare me out of the clinic. All I know, the tactics were weird. Everyone in the village knew me, and where to find me, why kill Brian and beat the fire out of Jackson, Michael and Leon?

"The only thing they had to do, was arrive at closing time. Raoul and I were always alone at that time. My guess is, they hadn't been in town long enough to know the clinic hours."

"Well, like you said, Michael is pretty close to figuring a few things out. His people have lived in that area for eons, they know every nuance of the area, and have a story for each one. From what rumors a town drunk can uncover, they are starting to think that you're a reincarnation of a legend. Most of the people feel that your protection is a top priority. Brian, Jackson, Hawke and Leon were protecting a life-style while protecting you."

"Would it have anything to do with the 'Angel of Death', Michael was talking about?" Christine slipped into her sleeping roll.

Alan looked down for a moment and sighed. "Kalona Ayeliski, or the Raven Mocker. He was half-man and half-spirit. He didn't follow any rules but his own. The legend goes something like this: The wise women of the nation gathered together to form a maiden from clay. She was a type of 'Kamikaze pilot'. This maiden was to make sure Kalona fell in love with her, and then lure him to a large cave. Staying trapped underground was the only way to prevent him from wrecking havoc on the Cherokee villagers.

"The Maiden was very beautiful and regal, an apt mate for the handsome Kalona. He thought they were soul mates, but there was one big difference, she was good on the inside and he definitely was not. He was an angry, selfish, evil soul. The maiden was so good she even felt pity for Kalona. Instead of leaving him underground by himself, she stayed with him when The Great Spirit caused the cave to collapse."

Alan continued to stare at the stars, "The Cherokee think Kalona is at every sick person's bedside trying to hasten their death. When they pass, the ones with stains on their spirits go with him. He is able to leave the cave as a spirit, but the maiden cannot. He is trying to get enough souls to trade The Great Spirit for hers. She was so kind that he will gather spirits until the end of time, and never have ever have enough to ransom hers.

Christine furrowed her brow. "Ok, more than my poor addled brain can take at this moment. If I am supposed to be a reincarnation of the maiden, who is Kalona?

"But back to reality, why is something other than Interpol, or some other faction, trying to get me? I will be honest, I don't know if I trust the Core, or the Pentagon, or anyone for that matter.

"The attackers weren't professional or they wouldn't have left anyone alive behind the library. Secondly, why didn't Core know about it? I know they couldn't have, or they would have removed me from the site before the attackers moved in."

Alan frowned, "I think it is tied in. Core didn't know because it wasn't a professional job. Someone else has an agenda regarding you."

Christine's shoulders drooped, "Care if I take second watch, I'm beat?"

Alan rubbed a finger under his nose, a life long habit. "Seems keeping awake for long hours is my forte, one of the reasons the Core keeps me around. You go ahead and sleep. I will crash when we get to our destination tomorrow."

Looking over to the woman in the sleeping bag, he realized his words hung in the air unheard. Christine, was already wrapped snugly in the arms of Morpheus.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE No Man Is An Island

Jonathan Estes closed the door to the work-room. He had previously locked all the outer doors. Yawning, he wished it had been his partner, Tad Brown's, turn to work on call. He had been in the funeral business for over forty years, and tonight was the first time he felt uneasy. Maybe it was because this was the first murder on the Reservation since he had moved here.

Oh, it wasn't the first murder he had dealt with; years ago there were men in the cities who delighted in humiliating any Native American they came across. He was a young, fresh graduate with a young Cherokee bride at the time. He glanced up at the picture of a young woman holding a baby that he kept on his desk, and smiled.

Thank goodness it hadn't made him jaded. The sixties were a turbulent decade no matter how you remember them.

Sitting down in the office, Jonathan looked at his watch, an hour before the crematorium finished. Leon Two Panthers had insisted his brother-in-law, Brian Deer Tracker be ready tomorrow.

He hoped they could find Jackson Man Bear. Shame, both of those boys were a credit to the village.

Brian's body was found in the river tonight by two little girls. The boy had rocks in his pockets and cement blocks chained to his legs. Dr. Chaney had called him to the clinic, to wait for the retrieval of Brian's body.

Whoever had done this never realized that any Cherokee, young or old, would notice the disturbance around the water's edge. The murderer was good, but the natives easily followed the trail to behind the library.

Chief Blue Jay had a pretty good working profile of the perpetrators. They were male, one weighing about one-hundred twenty pounds, the taller, with a longer stride, weighing close to two-hundred.

What the? There was a clatter out by the crematorium. Jonathan sighed. His knees creaked as he rose from the comfort of his chair. He hurriedly stacked the papers on his desk then rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, the last time this happened, he had to call the authorities on a bear.

Leon Two Panthers watched Jonathan shuffle toward the back of the funeral home. He hated to do this, he didn't like involving Jonathan. It could affect the old man's funerary business. Despite his wife, Rain Dove's, pleading, Leon was determined he would take credit for any laws broken. The whole tribe was at his back. No one would reveal that Brian had been pulled from the river.

Leon replaced the stack of papers Jonathan was working on. He hoped the gentle soul didn't notice the added death certificate for a few more hours. He didn't want the old man to have any knowledge that anyone could come after him for.

Leon stealthily worked his way back to the work room. Inside, in an unlocked cupboard he found Brian Deer Tracker's clothing. Glancing at the steel body drawers that recently held his young brother in-law, he bowed his head. Stoically, he replaced the bloody apparel with Jackson Man Bear's. Giving a quick inspection he was satisfied, no signs left anywhere that the body in the crematorium was Brian. Leon left as quietly as he arrived.

* * *

The shadow melded easily with the others around it. He leaned against the building, and sniffed the air, his gloved hands clenching and relaxing at his side. The crematorium had recently been used. Hopefully, it had everything to do with his mission. Was Man Bear alive?

It was easy for the dark figure to enter the back garage that housed the ancient hearse. It was equally no trouble to sneak into the workroom. Efficiently, the intruder slowly pulled out each drawer. The tall man cursed at his discovery, all three were empty.

There could still be a proverbial 'light at the end of the tunnel', his target could well be on its way to becoming a pile of ashes.

The shadow opened the cupboard without a sound. He wasn't called the 'Phantom' without reason. Finding a labeled plastic bag full of clothing, the Phantom examined each item. They were exactly as Darius described.

Still, it wasn't enough to prove that the kid had died at the clinic. Closing the door, he made his way down the hall until he found an office. Hugging the wall his yellow tinged eyes watched.. Inside, an elderly man had just pulled the top off of a soda. The ensuing pop gave him enough cover noise to glide behind the man's chair.

"Soft drinks aren't good for a man your age. It can lead to an early death."

Jonathan Estes whirled his chair, to find an extremely tall, dark clad, man in a mask, standing behind him. Mouth agape, he noticed that the man's gloved hands were running the length of a thin rope, almost in a caress.

It only took a few minutes; Jonathan Estes was a frail man, his reactions slowed by age.

Stepping over the body, the dark interloper picked up a stapled set of papers lying on the desk. One death certificate was for one fifteen-year old, by the name of Jackson Man Bear. Smiling grimly, he tossed the stack back on the desk.

It didn't pay not be thorough. The Phantom roamed the visitation rooms and the family kitchens. Skepticism raked her depraved fingers through his mind. Human beings were an odd animal. Strange how man wanted useless burial rites. Nature in her efficiency, left the body to start life's cycle over again. Very few animals grieved for the dead. Only the ones who mated for life seemed to miss the departed.

The shadow grit his teeth, his mask digging into his jaw. Mated for life... eh, even animals had what he did not. Was he not entitled to what animals took for granted? Shaking off his morose thoughts, he decided to revisit the workroom, since now, he could turn the lights on without alerting anyone.

The room was now illuminated by bright operating room style lights. The yellow in his eyes receded to become mismatched green and blue as he surveyed the clinical equipment. Everything was clean and in place. A garbage can waited for someone to roll it out the side door. Standing in front of it, he used a booted foot to turn the can over. Hmm, his eyes narrowed. Squatting down on long, thin legs, he surveyed the contents.

Everyday dust mixed with paper spilled across the floor. Picking up a pen from the counter, he used it to rearrange the contents on the tile. The mask shadowed eyes widened. River mud! Who would have tracked river mud into the work room?

Man Bear was carried straight from the woods to the clinic. He supposedly died there. The shoes he had just examined were clean. Mud certainly didn't come from that pitiful excuse of an old man, his clothing was fastidious. Darius, and the Rat-catcher had better hope the other teen's body had not been found yet. If Man Bear wasn't the one in the crematorium, one other option was... it was Deer Stalker after all. If Deer Stalker's body had been found, then Man Bear had ample opportunity to warn the Daae woman.


	6. Chapter 6 Who to Trust

CHAPTER SIX

Who To Trust?

The next morning Alan led Christine along a series of animal paths. Over head ancient oaks intertwined their branches with giant maples, and sycamores. At any other time she might have enjoyed the scenery. Wiping perspiration from her forehead, Christine was thankful for the shade that danced through the leaves.

Her dark curls clung to her slender neck in response to the humid air. She knelt to rinse her handkerchief in a small stream that meandered across their paths. It was cool and crystalline, fed from snow melting from the mountains.

At Alan's insistence, they stopped only to relieve themselves. The two of them ate breakfast and lunch while hiking. Christine finally called an embarrassed halt close to noon. She thought she was in shape! Boy, was she wrong. Her backpack had become unbearably heavy and her booted feet were throbbing.

Christine slid to the ground and placed her head on her knees. As her body rested, her mind continued to race. She wondered if Raoul and Leon were able to protect Jackson from any more attacks. Would the Core step in and contact Raoul?

Eyes narrowed, Alan took a deep breath. His nostrils flared as he took in the sun's position. "We are about three hours from the checkpoint. I think we can slow down some." Surveying Christine's reddened cheeks he suggested, "Let's redistribute your pack contents. I can carry a heavier load."

The shadows had lengthened as the hikers entered an open area in the woods. Holding up a hand, indicating for Christine to halt, Alan surveyed the perimeter. A cardinal's call trilled upon the air. Alan's shoulders visibly relaxed as a large figure emerged from the shadows.

"Hola, agente Berkley, cómo fue tu viaje?" the new arrival asked.

"Muy bien, Lance, éste es Christine Daaé, no estoy seguro de que habla Español." Alan answered, cocking an eyebrow at Christine.

"Christine, this is Lance Cousteau. We were discussing…"

Christine wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. Holding out her hand, she interrupted politely. "Hola, señor Cousteau. Yo hablo pidgin Español, si no te permite hablar Inglés". She darted a look at Alan and deadpanned, "You don't live in South America without learning some Spanish. You are right though, I prefer English. I don't speak Spanish well enough to speak with confidence."

Lance grinned, holding out his hand, "Your backpack, Ms. Daae. You'll find the horses hobbled over there." He indicated farther up the path.

Christine's shoulders fell. Blowing a curl of damp hair out of her face, she thought, "I guess they never got a report on how well I ride... Not."

* * *

The music came to a crescendo as fireworks lit the back stage. Frenzied fans screamed, chanting for more, and Dr. Raoul Chaney believed he was now deaf. He couldn't help but notice all the young goddesses on the post-concert hunt: they all were stalking his companion.

Michael Hawke tried not to swagger as several giggling, loud girls called out to him. He blushed as one particularly brazen blonde whistled at him.

Raoul spoke out of the corner of his mouth, "We are due backstage in three minutes, will you stop the goo-goo eyes, we aren't suppose to attract attention!"

Equally as quiet, unaware of his looks, Hawke replied, "Wow, do you think it's the new duds?"

Raoul shrugged, showing a stage guard his pass. The short, pock-marked guard eyed Michael with disdain. He pushed up his glasses with a middle finger, and took his time with Michael Hawke's pass.

Giving a wily grin, the pint-sized guard spoke into a microphone lodged in his ear. A minute later, two suited men in sunglasses stepped up to Michael. "Miss Daae says she knows a Raoul Chaney, but not a Michael Hawke.

Feeling disrespected, Michael straightened up to his six-foot one and stared stonily down at the glasses-clad guard. The smaller man seemed to shrivel, sidling back to his booth.

Raoul groaned. He was in the middle of a testosterone war. "Tell, Connie, that Uncle Raoul says Mr. Hawke is with him, and the man loves to play the violin."

Michael looked aghast at Raoul, the older man raised his eye brows in pseudo-resignation. The stocky, red-haired guard spoke into his head-set, nodded, then motioned for them to follow him.

They left the back of the stage and walked up to a posh bus. The older guard whom Michael had dubbed 'Red', knocked on the door. Standing back, he waited as another suited guard opened it. A cheerful feminine voice squealed, "Uncle Raoul, bring your friend and come on in! It seems it's homecoming day at the homestead!"

Michael Hawke had never seen such opulence in his life, and this was a bus! The inside guard checked their I.D.s and disappeared into a back compartment. A smiling young woman, who looked exactly like Christine, except for blue eyes, ran up and threw her arms around Raoul. Stumbling backward, Raoul lost his footing and fell into Michael, who promptly fell on his backside.

"Well, Well, I seemed to remember your penchant for clumsiness, Chaney." A woman's voice purred in a warm contralto.

Offering her hand to Raoul, the girl giggled breathlessly, "Aunt Meg, give him a break! Uncle Raoul, you remember Aunt Meg Giry?" Turning around to the other guest, Connie Daae's carefree laugh stopped in her throat. Standing back up, brushing his pants off, stood a six-foot, brown-eyed, oh-my-gosh-not-a-Hollywood-fake, hottie!

Mortified at falling on his posterior in front of this beautiful woman, the pony-tailed man spoke,"Michael Hawke, a friend of your mother. Nice to meet you. Hello, Miss Daae; you look just like your mom." Starting to perspire, the young brave rattled on, as he held a hand out to Connie.

Raoul didn't notice the young couple's awkward reaction to each other. He was busy. Was this woman the little elfin girl who made sand castles with him and Christine?

Meghan Giry wasn't an International Model for nothing. She reclined against the corner of a couch, clad in designer jeans and a top that was a best seller on her label. Her blonde hair style was a glamorous, complex weave. The wheat colored tips ended in a braid with tiny gems sprinkled here and there.

Patting the couch beside her, she drawled, "Let's catch up. The last I heard from you was... hmmm. Oh yes, when Christine called us to see if in an emergency, we would be Connie's guardians. All that gallivanting around in jungles!" Meg shuddered. "Its a wonder something hasn't happen to her already.

"The next thing I know, the two of you are working at the same clinic, and baby girl here is a national star." Taking a sip of her drink, Meghan raised an arched brow, "Is there something else I should know?"

"Plenty to know about, but you are 'barking up the wrong tree', Miss Giry." Raoul countered.

"Meg, if you please, Raoul." Meg corrected.

Connie had quietly shown Michael to a chair and offered both visitors a drink.

Fatherly instincts aroused, Raoul inspected his drink. Tea. Tea was a good thing, at least Hollywood hadn't gone to her head yet. He had previous visions of horrid parties dedicated to Bacchus.

At a loss what to say, unusually rattled by Raoul's handsome friend, Connie spoke the first thing that came to mind, "Good idea, Uncle Raoul, thinking about the violin. You knew, I would put one and one together, and admit your friend in."

Michael arched a brow, "What does ' violin' signify, anyway?"

"The Daaes throughout history are violin lovers. My grandfather had a natural ability to play by ear. Mother and I can play also. So, I naturally assumed Uncle Raoul's odd introduction to be a safe-word. It was a good way to know who to trust."

Ignoring their attempt to start a conversation, Raoul plowed on with his thoughts. "Are you satisfied with the guards, Connie?"

Taken aback a little, Connie answered, "They are from the Core, Uncle Raoul. They probably know what you're going to say before you do."

Michael swallowed, Connie had crossed her shapely, tanned legs, then leaned over to place her tea on a side table.

"What do you know about the term, 'Angel'," Raoul asked.

Meg looked in shocked confusion between Raoul and Michael.

"You've got to be kidding, Uncle Raoul!" Connie waved a hand as if to dismiss the question. "What do I know about Angels…Ha, Ha. You ask some weird things at times."

"This isn't a joke, Connie. How long has it been since you've heard from your mother?" Placing his elbows on his knees, Raoul pinched the area between his eyebrows.

"Before I went on a tour advertising this show, let's see, about three weeks ago." Connie leaned forward, "What's wrong?" Not liking Raoul's expression, the anxious girl stood up and grabbed Raoul's hand.


	7. Chapter 7 Mother Goose

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mother Goose

Christine whistled under her breath. Finally, she could see human shaped forms ahead. Could it be? There was something with them that had wheels instead of legs, too. "Hallelujah," Christine said gratefully. She bent down and pat her black mare's neck. "Nothing meant by it girl." The horse rolled her eyes and nickered in response.

Pulling on the reins, Christine stopped alongside Alan. A voice from the trail called," Mozart!" Alan replied, "'Driving Miss Daisy'!"

Satisfied all was well, Lance dismounted to help Christine off her horse. She watched two people approach well aware of the hidden guns in her companion's holsters.

One of the new arrivals was an older man with graying hair sporting a navy-blue beret. The other figure was a tall, angular red-head. Her tailored khaki clothing resembled a safari suit. Her accented voice was hoarse and guttural. "So this is our Healer. Welcome, Christine Daae," she fluffed her pixie styled hair with one hand, as she held out the other.

Alan had dismounted and started to make introductions. "Christine, this is Carlotta Giudiceli, and Julius Reyer. They will be two of your body guards. Does E.S.P. exist on your list of talents? You haven't asked where we are, but I'm going to tell you anyway. You are in the north-central part of Montana, close to the Canadian border. God's Country."

"Thanks. I've learned the Core will tell me on their own time, Alan." Christine shook Ms. Giudiceli's hand, then Mr. Reyer's. The little man's small, black eyes surveyed Christine, as his mustache moved in a perpetual twitch.

Alan yawned, "Along with these two good people, I will be a town resident, also. Lance, will be our liaison."

Carlotta tilted her head, indicating for Christine to follow. The tall woman strode with a purposeful ease toward the three-wheelers parked in a clearing.

Accepting a sports-drink from her, Christine distrustfully eyed the all-terrain vehicles, each three-wheeler was rusty with mismatched parts.

Noticing her appraisal, Carlotta laughed, "New vehicles will draw attention. Don't worry they are safe. The Core had the motors 'hopped up' a bit. Have you ever manned one?"

Christine shook her head to the negative as she swallowed her drink. Gratefully, she placed the cool bottle to her forehead.

"I thought not. Listen carefully. Hearing is impossible when you are riding behind another person. Landon Hills is an Artist Retreat. You will be working for Mr. Reyer, in his dining club. The town is completely geared to artists and tourists. There are Bistros, art shops, camps, music school…you name it."

"Are there any doctor's offices?" Christine inquired.

"You are no longer a nurse. You are an entertainer." Carlotta spoke nonchalantly.

"I can't sing a note!" Christine gasped.

"That could be entertaining…maybe not." Alan threw his hands up in surrender as two pairs of feminine eyes glared at him.

"Isn't your daughter an actress and singer?"

Christine nodded to Carlotta's question.

"So, then, the genes are there. You just have to bring them out." Carlotta waved her hand dismissively. "I am your room-mate. Don't be alarmed, I am working on being a Kunoichi-no-jutsu. You will be safe."

"Who will save her from you?" Alan quipped, while stepping out of reach of Carlotta's long legs.

Carlotta raised a dignified eyebrow, and made a moue with her mouth. "Continuing on, there will be a double, waiting for you in the house provided for your residence. Her name is Core Agent, Summer Rose." Carlotta firmly grabbed Christine's chin, turning her face from side to side. "She is much younger than you; we may have to tweak her face a little."

Alan guffawed at Christine's baleful expression. She wasn't sure she liked this rude female agent.

Carlotta strode noiselessly, and retrieved two packets from her three-wheeler. "One for you, Agent Berkley, and one for you, Agent Cousteau. Don't bother opening it here, I can tell you what it says. You both are now white clearance. Congratulations, gentlemen."

Carlotta ignored the men, turned on her heel, and continued to talk to Christine. "Summer, will be the one actually living in the house. There is a tunnel that connects it to the dinner club. You will be living below the club. Every day you go home, but return to an apartment below the club; and Summer, will be available as the happy dinner club entertainer, slash, homemaker after hours."

"To justify your presence, Agent Cousteau, you will be Ms. Daee, and Ms. Rose's significant other. This will enable you to move about freely without questions in town."

Lance laughed and bowed from the waist, "At your service Ms. Daae."

"It may sound juvenile, Ms. Daae, but in all vocal conversations and writing, you are Mother Goose. We will discuss your working identity, later." Carlotta placed a helmet over her hair.

Agent Reyer cut Christine's reply off as he mounted his vehicle, and placed a helmet on his graying head. "I will be in the dining club's apartment above you, Carlotta will be living with you, and Alan will be residing above the bar next door.

"When we arrive, Carlotta will take you straight to the house so you can meet Summer." Kick-starting his vehicle, he yelled, "We need to go; Ms Daae has spent enough time being visible in Montana's wilderness for one day."


	8. Chapter 8 A Bird in Hand

CHAPTER EIGHT

A Bird in Hand

Running his finger around his collar, Joseph was glad he wasn't that weirdo, Ratcatcher or the new guy, Darius. Becoming distracted he watched a couple at the nickel machines. He grinned when they obviously lost. Sorry about their luck. It was another c-note in his pocket.

Observing them leave from the protection of his window, Joseph returned to his thoughts. The Boss was almost certain that the other brat had been found in the river and the natives were keeping it under wraps. While interviewing the two hapless men who dumped the body, the Phantom had systematically torn the casino's basement to pieces.

Always on the prowl for information he could use, Joseph had overheard Kahn, and the Shade speculating: the body could account for the changes that had occurred over-night. The first thing that happened, Doctor Chaney had left town, leaving his clinic to a temporary physician.

Bored, Joseph Bouquet scratched behind his ear, it seemed strange, even to him, that the good doctor would leave without that Daae woman. It was obvious that he was in a hard-way-for her.

One of the men who had stumbled upon Darius, and the Rat-catcher, was missing; a brave by the name of, Michael Hawke. The other man, Leon Two Panthers, had not gone to work, staying home with his wife and daughters. The family had handed out flyers stating that the kid, Brian Deer Tracker, was missing. Could it be a ploy? Even so, Two Panthers had over a dozen well muscled kin staying with him.

The old medicine man, Robert Man Bear, could be heard chanting steadily. For over twelve hours now, he sat enclosed in an old stick hut. Those people that Shade and himself had questioned stated that the old man was grieving for his grandson, Jackson.

Relying on surprise, they used the same excuse he had given to that old crone in the truck. He and the Shade, under duress he might add, had barged in. The Shade preferred subterfuge, but had given in. Feeling professional in his uniform, Joseph had proceeded to question the old man.

Joseph angrily rubbed the stubble on top of his head. A funerary urn resided in the place of honor by the medicine fire. In answer to one of the Shade's questions the elderly man took a leisurely drag on his pipe. Then pretty-as-you-please, the stupid old fart had thrown something into the fire, and thereby singed what was left of Joseph's hair completely off.

Of course, when they returned, the Boss, didn't buy the idea. Too convenient, he said. The urn more than likely did not hold the youngster. Unfortunately, _he_ had disposed of the only person sure about the cremated individual's identity.

The Old Man Upstairs must have had it in for the Boss that night. Joseph snickered. Feeling vindicated, he thought Murphy's Law had been the order of the day.

He had taken most of the disappearances well, for the boss, that is. What really had the masked creep in an unholy uproar was that nurse Daae, the one the Cherokee called Angel, had disappeared. She evidently didn't go home that night and hadn't been seen since.

The Phantom himself searched her house, finding nothing amiss, slow-cooker still on, food scorched, fixings for tea ready on the counter, and a wad of money in an envelope hid in her sock drawer. Wonder what happened to that cash? Yeah. He could have distributed those bills to the men. Selfish bugger.

Picking his teeth with a knife, Bouquet wondered why the Boss wanted this woman so badly. That Persian, Kahn, probably knew. If he didn't know better, he would think those two men had a ..what did his niece call it? A _bromance _going on. Nah. Joseph shuddered. The boss was too cold and narcissistic to care for anyone, not to mention downright scary-looking. Even Kahn wasn't that hard-up.

Complacency over Deer Tracker's body staying undiscovered might have allowed the Daae woman over a twenty hour head start. If Man Bear was alive he probably warned her late Wednesday afternoon. Were the Indians smart enough to pull a switcheroo on the Boss? Joseph made a moue with his mouth. Could be.

Trying to get in good with the boss, he had contacted an old crony. Gordy had taken a bribe, dodged his parole officer, and surveyed the airport. He reported that the doctor had boarded by himself and headed north-east to Vermont. The nurse's name hadn't shown up on an airline ticket yet. That meant they needed to find that Hawke fella and Man Bear. Good chance they knew where Christine Daae was.

He couldn't win, though. The Boss was still a nasty cuss over what Joseph had considered a nice gesture. He threw a tantrum over a newcomer becoming exposed to their work. He felt sorry for old Gordon, he had a sneaking suspicion his old jail-mate was about to receive an unwanted last visit. Wiping his brow Joseph sighed, at least it wasn't his own neck in a noose.

* * *

In the basement a black suited lone figure, sat at his piano. Long fingers idly caressed the ivory keys while his nimble mind sharply dissected the past several hours. Not trusting Bouquet, he had just directed Nadir, to check out the clinic once again.

Angular shoulders shrugged. Things were salvageable. Rumors were that a Cherokee man had purchased a brand new Bronco the next county over. Where did one of the people here get the money to pay cash for a vehicle?

The Shade had promptly checked the new owner's address out. A dead-end. So far, no new trucks arrived in town. Hmmm, no new truck, and no Michael Hawke. Coincidence? He pressed a lone key, the note reverberating across the concrete walls. His instinct said ...not.

Unfolding his tall body he effortlessly moved the piano and pulled a manilla file off the underside. Removing his leather gloves, he proceeded to untie the string. Turning it over he spilled the contents on the piano's gleaming top.

Mismatched eyes scanned the numerous faded headlines. Newspaper clippings memorized long ago. 'Woman cured of stage-four cancer'. 'Child lived after being backed over by a car'. 'Ebola virus stopped'. 'No deaths reported in tsunami', 'causalities light in earthquake'; the clippings went on and on.

'Israel's prime minister denies existence of super-humans'. 'Does Britain have their own Clark Kent'? 'Hidden compound houses victims'. 'The United States participates in genetic weapons testing on live human subjects'.

Picking up a faded letter he reread the foreign language scrawled in a spidery script, "I'm sorry to report, your wife committed suicide after delivering your son. His birth defects were too much for her unstable mental condition to cope with. The St. Helena home for children will be glad…"

Eyes accidently coming to rest on a color photograph, the Phantom allowed the note to slide from his fingers. Gazing at the familiar picture he noted the smiling subject staring back at him. A tiny, young brunette held a baby in a sling. An older man with the same curly hair stood behind her carrying a violin case. He had noted jungle plants in the back-ground, and a shiny-faced, ebony native shaking hands with the girl.

He had this picture in his possession for over twenty years, and the girl was embedded in his mind. Pulling a wallet out of his pants pocket he pulled out a laminated picture. The same girl smiled back at him. This time, she was with a young red-head in a soldier's uniform. He compared the two pictures. He had taken the other one from a target, twenty-two years ago. The boy should have died immediately from the wound he received, but lived long enough to whisper, "Picture. tell...love her."

He didn't know why he kept the first picture to begin with. Maybe it was the question of how did the soldier live despite his fatal wounds? Was it to allow his young wife the comfort of knowing he loved her? To cherish that his last thoughts were of her?

Tapping the picture on his palm, the Phantom, sneered. How would the young man have felt, if he knew that his pretty love was the reason for his demise? She had allowed powerful people to learn of her 'gift'. A soldier-husband was one less person to count her as missing.

The boy's eyes had plead with him before his lungs took their last breath. No remorse felt, his job was complete. As an afterthought he had taken the photograph with him, and escaped detection by the guards.

A familiar feeling, like an old enemy, twisted deep in his core. He wanted what that fresh-faced boy had. When this was over with, he would finally be free to try and obtain what he so desperately yearned for. A wife to take out strolling on Sundays, and a child to put to bed at night. Someone's name to whisper with his last breath. A normal life.

A small voice murmured in the back of his mind, 'even at her expense?' Gripping the photograph between his fingers the man stood up. Perusing the small upturned nose and crooked smile he shook his head to the affirmative, yes, even at her expense.

Carefully replacing the picture back in his wallet, the Phantom reached for another paper. As was his habit, beginning to pace, he read, "In a drug-raid this past Thursday, a man was heard screaming he'd make a deal: he knew where the healer was! This so called, medicine woman, had helped during the earthquake. Healer? This writer asks, what will convicts say next to avoid arrest?"

Picking up another picture, the Phantom rolled his eyes at the pretty girl holding a microphone on stage: she was the baby in the picture-all grown up. An almost complete replica of her mother. Except her eyes were a deep blue. Another, was an old photo of Miss Universe: Meghan Giry, the Angel's, childhood friend.

The next one was of Dr. Chaney. An unfamiliar knife twisted in his stomach. Dread? From what he heard lately, this man was the Angel's amour. The Phantom curled his lip. The good doc could have her as soon as_ he_ was done with her. If the man could find her.

The last one was of the late, Special Services Agent, General Gustave Daae. Shame about Daae, he had a rare gift for playing the violin. The Phantom had refused to take on that target. Superb music was a rarity, and music was akin to his god. He would not be the one to end the man's life, thus snuffing out the music. Someone else did, anyway. What a waste.

Running a thin finger over the girl's visage, narrowed eyes soaked up the sparkle in hers. Gingerly, he placed the photograph back in the envelope. Leaning a thin hip on the piano, he flipped open his phone. Absently, he pushed a speed-dial button. "I will have her before a week is out. Be waiting with the money. No, I will contact you."


	9. Chapter 9 Lets Tell A Story

**I have to apologize to my readers. I have returned to earlier chapters and tried to correct some grammatical errors. This did indeed change the plot hints (not the plot itself) in places. Since I am learning this fanfiction business, I may do that a lot. Please feel welcome to reread any earlier chapters while waiting for an update. I do not own any characters you recognize except for the ones in this plotline. I really appreciate all your nice and informative reviews! They make my day.**

CHAPTER NINE

Tell Me A Story

"The last I saw her, she was fine." Raoul enfolded a shaking Connie in his arms.

"Last you saw?" Meghan quickly snapped her mouth shut at Raoul's warning look.

"Connie, sweetheart, what can you tell me about the Core?" Raoul asked, leaving her hand in his.

"Let me answer that question, Dr. Chaney," a deep voice spoke from the back compartment. All eyes turned to find the guard who had allowed Raoul and Michael entrance striding confidently into the room.

"Aunt Meghan Giry, Doctor Raoul Chaney, Michael Hawke, this is Core Agent Zane Dugan. He has been with me since I left Mama at the Reservation," Connie smiled wanly.

Agent Dugan pulled up an ottoman, using it to sit on. "Let's all get comfortable. This is going to take a while, and it is a lot to digest." Speaking into his microphone he ordered, "Make a sweep and keep the perimeter clear."

Connie offered the agent a drink, and he accepted it gratefully. He had actually worked for movie-stars before and Miss Daae was a breath of fresh air.

Suddenly sitting up back straight, Agent Dugan spoke into the wire, "Now, would be a good opportunity: keep a good eye out."

Gray eyes somberly perused the group. "The Core is an agency that was formed to protect a certain small population of society. Christine Daae and thirteen others are a part of that milieu. Most of this interesting group reside in communities where the government can monitor their safety."

Meghan, mouth agape, tipped her glass of tea on her blouse. While Connie jumped to her feet in order to help her clean up, Agent Dugan continued.

"When we say most of the group; that includes all known members except for a rogue in Europe, and Christine. We have nine affiliates here in the United States, the others are in Britain and Israel.

"This particular population of people are what some would call, for a lack of better wording, 'gifted'. They have varying resources inbuilt into their physical and mental persons that enable them to heal the human body. Some have other smaller gifts that go with the healing.

"Since 1800, the United States has sequestered 'Healers' from the rest of the world. After much thought, our Founding Fathers, decided no matter how much their talents were in demand, allowing the secret to leak out could be catastrophic."

Raoul could feel a massive headache coming on. He squinched his eyes and asked, "With all the diseases that have decimated millions, they weren't allowed to try to stop them?"

Agent Dugan nodded grimly. "We almost brought them out during World War II. Hitler, was very close to discovering our hidden Allied Secret. The Aryan Race he obsessed over, was a cover for people with varying differences, such as self combustion, E.S.P. and the like."

"Help me to understand." Meghan's gaze darted between Agent Dugan, and Raoul. These people could have changed the course of history for the better, and weren't allowed to?"

Michael spoke somberly, "No offense, Miss Giry, with mankind's track-record, they more than likely, would have been forced to become living weapons."

Silence permeated the room. Feeling shell-shocked, Raoul asked tightly, "What does this have to do with Christine? Why isn't she in a compound?"

Before Agent Dugan could speak, Michael interrupted thoughtfully, "Living on x-amount of land and not being allowed to leave, isn't what it is 'cracked up to be', Doc."

Zane Dugan nodded in response to Michael. "Yes, though the government's track record speaks for itself. Because of recent reports, we are all well aware of the Japanese prison camps situated out west during WWII, and the Native American Reservations still in use today. But feeling imprisoned is not the reason she isn't living life under twenty-four-seven government protection.

"Christine Daae is unique even among the unique. She is the granddaughter of a healer as well as the daughter of one."

"The General?" Raoul sat up straight.

Dugan smiled, "No, General Gustave Daae, was a military genius with a gift for music, but not a healer."

"It was Grandmother." Connie stated.

"Yes, your mother inherited the recessive allele from Ana Marie. Not only did Christine receive mitochondrial DNA from Ana, but the process of recombination ensured she was blessed with another gene, donated by your great-grandfather. She is the strongest healer known since the apostles of Christ, on written record."

"What about…?" Connie swallowed.

"Yourself?" Agent Dugan asked, smiling indulgently. "Other than having the immune system of a horse, you don't carry the healing gene."

"Can Christine raise the dead?" Meg asked, a hand to her throat.

Agent Dugan burst out laughing, "No, she's not quite that good! Though it gives one pause as to why the American Indian refer to her as, Angel."

Raoul growled, "Just how_ good_, is she? What kind of danger is she in?"

Zane Dugan felt a pull of pity for the doctor. The physician was definitely in love with Ms Daae. "She can heal on contact with a patient. A lot of 'healers' can lay-on-hands and heal, but Christine can see or sense the disease or injury within the body. She is like a human x-ray machine."

Remembering Jackson; Michael whistled, "Wow!"

"Yeah, Wow. Bare with me, and imagine a new Hitler, or Saddam Hussein, having obtained the healers. In your mind's eye try to picture a war. Now, picture the enemy medics healing their wounded within minutes and releasing them back in the fracas, and winning that war." Dugan said, grimly.

"We have the others in the compound, at this time only to study them, and keep them safe. Our scientists want to discover the recombination availability on the gene. The United States is determined to replicate it before anyone else. Even though abnormal and potentially deadly, the abilities of these individuals are now considered limited."

"Why," Meghan quiered.

"Why limited? There are robots out there that can do the job of a soldier. Cloning is being pursued pretty heavily in warfare technology. There are other classified weapons. These people may have gifts but they too, eventually die."

"No, why Christine," Meghan repeated.

Connie licked her lips, "I can answer that one, Aunt Meghan. The rest of the world has pretty much the same knowledge we do-by studying the group with weaker 'powers'. Why double up on the same knowledge? Mama would be a coup.

"In fact, that is how we lost my Grandmother. General Daae left her at the compound with Mama. Grandmother had begged to go with him on a classified mission for the President. The General felt she would be safer in the compound in his absence.

"He had no idea that a terrorist group had prepared to attack. Grandmother instructed a young, unprepossessing janitor to take Mama to safety. She hoped correctly that no one would want to stop a janitor. Ana Marie, stayed to throw them off Mama's track. A rookie terrorist, not knowing she was one of the targets, shot grandmother. Her body was never retrieved.

"Blaming himself, Grandpapa swore that Mama would never know the inside of a compound. He raised her as a normal American girl. But there was a catch, just like Sleeping Beauty and the spindle.

"Not knowing she had this ability, her gift came out in the open unexpectedly.. Soldiers at the army hospital that were predicted to die-lived, despite multiple negative prognosis,' from different doctors. Mama didn't know she was the reason."

"During this time, Gustave...I mean, Gaston Reeser, was killed. What is it with all these G-names, anyway?" Agent Dugan interjected.

"Gaston Reeser?" Michael asked.

"My real name. We haven't gone by it since the first time the Core had to hide us." Connie informed him.

"The terrorist group posed as F.B.I. agents hoping to lure your mother peacefully. Thank-goodness for your grandfather's impeccable instinct." Zane Dugan replied.

"The government is sure your Father's death was secondary to clearing the way to capture your mother's abilities," Agent Dugan spoke.  
"A complete investigation showed that no other American soldier had fired his weapon that evening. It was a sniper job, and whoever shot your father, escaped cleanly and absconded with the picture of your mother Private Reeser always carried."


	10. Chapter 10 Welcome Home

CHAPTER TEN

Welcome Home

Christine clung tightly to Alan's waist as the three-wheelers careened over ravines and splashed through streams. They startled a herd of white-tailed deer, Christine flinched as one jumped over their heads, a sharp hoof barely missing Carlotta's helmet.

She watched as Carlotta threw a grin Reyer's way and revved up her motor. Breaking off from the other two vehicles, she tipped her three-wheeler on its back wheels.

Christine felt the excitement radiating from Alan as he gunned his vehicle's motor and rode after her, passing an indulgent acting Reyer.

Shaking her head, Christine thought, 'And back at the reservation, Raoul said, I didn't get out much? These guys act like horses put on pasture in the spring.

Around sunset they pulled up in front of a ramshackle barn with a leaning silo. Christine caught her breath, in the ensuing silence, the sunset broke from behind the mountains to bathe the buildings in watery purples and yellows.

"How's that for drama?" Alan murmured, nodding to the shifting colors.

Christine felt a sudden affinity for her new acquaintances, each one drinking in the sunset, lost in their own thoughts.

Carlotta cleared her throat and started pushing her vehicle in the barn. In silent camaraderie, the men helped her camouflage it with old hay bales.

"Myself and Alan will ride the rest of the way in town. Carlotta will have to help Mother Goose finish up on foot, as not to attract attention." Reyer handed Christine her backpack. In minutes the two men had disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Carlotta pulled a small flashlight from her pocket, and started toward the silo.

"Where are you going?" Christine frowned.

Carlotta opened the rickety silo's door.

"Oh, no. That thing is an accident waiting to happen." Christine dug her heels in muleishly.

Carlotta sighed, "Look inside." She beamed her light into the interior.

Christine stepped around the other woman to gingerly peer in the rotting door. Following the flashlight's beam she noticed that the ceiling and sides had disguised reinforcements. Spider webs and strands of dirt hung off poles that upon closer inspection didn't show any signs of deterioration.

"We will be walking underground the rest of the way to meet with agent Rose. Old under ground river caves criss-cross a majority of Montana.. It won't be flat for long, there will be inclines and in places barely room to fit, but we will get there." Carlotta yawned. "Excuse me, but it has been a long few days."

Feeling foolish, Christine hefted her backpack and followed the other woman. In the back of the room, a worn corn chute encased in spider webs caught her eye. Carlotta stepped up, tore the webs away and placed her legs in the opening. Not giving Christine time to speak, she leaned back and pushed off into the interior.

Left in the dark, Christine listened for any signs of Carlotta. Silence greeted her. Shoving her backpack ahead of her, Christine stepped up. Resisting the urge to yell, Cowabunga! She pushed off with her hands.

Expecting sharp pieces of corn kernels to flay her alive, or razor like pieces of metal to dice her into cubes, Christine raised her eyebrows at how smooth the chute was. Within a space of a minute she landed on her feet in a musty room.

Carlotta handed her a small light and placed a finger over her lips. Whispering she advised, "Echoes can be heard in drinking wells and near underground springs". Swinging her helmet she turned down a tunnel. Christine followed Carlotta's quiet example, cringing when she accidentally kicked loose pieces of gravel.

They walked for an indeterminate amount of time, and stopped before a rusted metal door hewn into the rock. Beside the door was an old water pump. Carlotta lifted the handle and Christine saw a computer thumb port taped underneath. Sliding the thumb-port into a door hinge, she waited as a beeping noise ensued, emitting four tones. Carlotta stepped back as the door opened.

Motioning for Christine to proceed her, Carlotta closed the door. Inside, the door was not visible. Christine ran her hand across the wallpaper; unable to find an opening. Pulling an obviously fake light switch forward, the agent hurriedly dropped the thumb-port between it and the wall. She quickly closed it up.

" If it wasn't closed within twenty seconds an alarm would sound at headquarters. It will take a while to learn all the computer keys. The Core will replace that one tonight." Carlotta nonchalantly informed an obviously confounded Christine.

"About time ya'll showed up." A feminine voice spoke from top of a set of stairs. "Come on up and share a cup of tea with me."

Christine followed Carlotta up the set of rough-cut basement stairs. They led into a small 'L' shaped kitchen decorated with cow figurines.

Christine felt queasy. Standing in front of her was a replica of herself. Summer had long dark curls, parted in the middle that brushed her waist. She wore a lavender sprigged top and blue-jean capris on her five-foot-three frame. As much as her daughter resembled her, she didn't look like a plastic clone.

Holding out her hand, the woman pursed her lips. "Must be unsettling to see a wax doll of yourself. Hello, I'm Summer Rose, and you are Christine, Christine Daae."

Christine had to snort at the woman's rendition of 'I'm Forrest, Forrest Gump'."

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "I'm surrounded by amateurs. You two get to know each other and I will fix tea."

"I know this isn't intended as your living area Christine, but allow me to show you around so you will have at least a working knowledge of the layout anyway." Summer linked arms with her look-alike and started down the hall. The bath was spartan, done in light green and sea-shells.

Next was a small bedroom made into an office. All the floors were hardwood. The second bedroom was the master bedroom done in gray and maroon. The living room had a small stone fireplace with a gray microfiber couch and rocking chair.

The walls were all painted barn wood. Motioning for Christine to stay out of sight, opening the front door Summer gestured to a wrap around porch with a pair of white rocking chairs. A set of French doors led into the office. A profusion of flowers lined the small back yard.

Leading back to the kitchen, Summer tilted her head and studied Christine. "I'm sorry for the basic décor, but since you have spent your entire life in jungle huts and church housing, we weren't sure what your tastes were."

Carlotta placed a steaming cup of white tea in front of Christine, a cup of mint for Summer and peach for herself. Christine wasn't surprised that Carlotta knew what her favorite flavor was.

I've been here since the incident, and in order to have you seen around town, I took the liberty of starting a flower garden. I hope you enjoy my selection." Summer took a sip of her tea.

"Tourist season will be starting up the end of this week and most of the vendors have their booths out. Might be a good idea to go with Lance around town tomorrow and learn the town's layout."

"When finished 'sight-seeing', Reyer expects to see you at the Dinner Club at three, for tryout," Carlotta interjected.

Christine strangled on her tea. Summer pat her back until she quit coughing. Carlotta leaned back with her arm linked over her chair's back. "Still worried about your singing ability, Daae? A few days with Reyer and he will have you in ship-shape."

Narrowing her eyes, Christine asked, "Why do I suspect there is something you aren't telling me?"


	11. Chapter 11 Good News

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Good News

Hanging up the phone, the Phantom replaced the manila envelope under the piano. Perching once again on the bench, his long fingers released a melancholic tune into the room. Faster, faster and faster his fingers began to fly across the keys. His wiry shoulders rose and fell in concert with the melody. His eyes slowly drifted closed and the tenseness in his lower jaw relaxed. Music. Music was his life, and his soul. His alpha and omega.

His mind started to wander. The beginning and the end. Not for much longer. That place would be taken by a corporeal body. One whom he could stroke, and make a very different kind of music with. He would memorize that instrument and wring every happy sound possible from it. Perspiration began to bead his thin upper lip, as his breathing became heavy: their notes would soar to heaven's very door and float down on satiated gossamer wings. The Phantom's breathing had become erratic. Attentive ears heard the clicking of the outside door, and his mind returned to the present.

Looking up he noticed, Nadir. The Persian had marched over to the bar and proceeded to fill two glasses with ice. Watching his friend the Phantom changed tunes to one less personal.

He stopped playing when the other man offered him a glass. Nadir strode to the fireplace and sat down in one of the wing chairs. Taking a sip from his glass, the middle-eastern man drew his lips into a straight line, savoring the taste of his drink.

Raising a curious brow the Phantom almost smiled. His friend looked like a teen trying to gather the courage to confess a major behavior infraction. Nadir was over ten years older than himself and silver had started rooting out the black strands above the Daroga's ears. Though he would never admit to it, recently his gait was slower and his annoying style of wit, sluggish.

Nadir lifted the glass, swirling the contents in ever-widening circles. Jade eyes stared into the amber contents. In one gulp he threw the rest of the drink back and sighed. Sometimes being the self-professed conscience for the damaged younger man was daunting. Facing the man by the piano, he gathered his courage.

Erik's interest was piqued. Despite his age the Daroga was usually very eloquent in speech. He must fear for someone's neck with the news he carried.

Nadir scanned the full faced white mask. Sometimes he wondered if the mask was more the other man's identity than what was under it. He had known him since he was a police chief and the Phantom, a fifteen year old surviving on the streets of Onir. Nadir was well aware of the murderous temper simmering not far below the calm persona he presented now. How had he signed on as this man's unwanted and under valued keeper?

"Now Erik, I would appreciate it if you stayed calm until the end of my report." Nadir ordered.

Speaking rapidly, the former policeman reported his findings. "There are steps in the janitor's closet that lead out to the roof. Old cleaning rags covered the rungs. I lifted them and found dried blood stains. I guess Doctor Chaney forgot to clean the rungs after finishing with the examining room. The ladder leads to a trap door on the roof. I climbed up there and found partial shoe prints along the shingles.

"Whoever it was climbed down the barber shop's fire escape. I found a partial shoe print behind the dumpster. I couldn't find any more prints, but there is a well used path that winds through the woods. There weren't any clues on the path, but the trail leads right out to the houses on Blakemore Road.

"Christine Daae's house is the closest. I didn't find anything else. She must have left by vehicle on the road. You know Erik, you don't have to go through with this."

Ignoring Nadir's gently placed request, the masked man stood up and quickly began to pace. "Bouquet said there were only two people on the road around dusk that night. How could he have missed her? Wait…"

Nadir shivered at the dark chuckle that emitted from thin lips. "He said a horny old crone and her grandson. Rich. No doubt it was Ms. Daae and whomever helped her escape. We know where one of the two teens are, and where Two Panthers is. That leaves Hawk and Chaney. We also need to find out for sure which teen was in the crematorium.

"Daroga, a brave paid cash for a truck in the next county and gave a fake address. We need to find out what Hawke's old vehicle was and see where it is now. I would like for Shade to go back to that dealer and show Hawke's picture to him.

"I need for you to find Bouquet, André, and Firmin. Bring Bouquet here as soon as you find him, and the others in my office in the morning."


	12. Chapter 12 In the Mist

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hidden in the Mist

"I expect my casino, and especially my theatre run according to _my _specifications," growled the Phantom. "Listen carefully, there will be one chance, and one chance only. Any deviations upon my return will be dealt with."

The two managers swallowed, they had worked for the 'Phantom' before, and counted themselves among the lucky ones. Several of their business partners from earlier ventures were never heard from again.

"We have your itinerary, and have already sent out the inquiries for talent," stuttered the shorter of the two men.

"For your sake, I hope so, Andre," the unnatural voice hissed. Tilting his head, the masked man leered, "I commend you on your lovely new wife, Andre. I didn't know you had it in you. Oh, and Firmin, please stay vigilant around Goldberg, I hear the Russian mob is watching his movements carefully. It wouldn't take much for them to take offense, no?"

"Yes, sir, we understand, sir," Firmin answered.

He and Andre weren't idiots. There would be no type of deviation on this 'job'. Joseph Bouquet had nearly given him a stroke. The crazy coot had approached them yesterday about a venture on the side. Closing all the curtains and making a quick survey of the hall outside his door, Firmin had 'nipped it in the bud'. It was a miracle that cumbersome old man was still alive. Firmin swallowed. His sources indicated that another slip, and Bouquet's days 'were numbered'.

The Phantom tossed a cell phone on the desk. Towering over the two managers, he ordered, "_Any_ communication that you need to make _will be carried _out on this device, be it your 'honey-kins' wife, Andre, or my man in charge. By-the-way, all decisions will go through my esteemed associate, whether it is to take a leak, or hire a new ballet rat. Your movements will be monitored: any attempt to talk 'business' on any other device will be duly noted."

"But there is only one…," Andre sputtered as he retrieved the phone from the desktop.

"I suggest you and Firmin get real cozy, then. Happy Honeymoon, my regards to the new bride." The Phantom chuckled darkly, opening the door in dismissal.

* * *

Nadir found Erik in his office standing next to the window, hands crossed behind his back. It had rained earlier, turning the heated atmosphere into a sauna. Steam obscured the windows throwing the scenic view outside into rippled waves of unreality. "Strange how something as simple as mist can change one's perception, eh, Daroga?"

Not wanting to get into a hypothetical debate, which he always lost, Nadir blurted out, "It was Michael Hawke that purchased the new Bronco. His old vehicle was a gray primered 1972 Ford truck. The very same one that Bouquet had stopped.

"That woman has nine lives," Erik spat.

"On top of that, our resources informed me this morning that Miss Connie Daae, is at this very moment entertaining Dr. Chaney, Meghan Giry and Michael Hawke.

"We should have acted on the assumption that Man Bear, lived to warn her." Nadir mused, hoping he wasn't signing the death warrant for Darius and the Ratcatcher.

"Assume. You know what assume means, Daroga?" Not waiting for Nadir to respond, Erik ground out, "When you assume, you make an 'ass-out-of-you-and-me.' That is what Bouquet did. Twice in one night. One, he assumed the two people in the truck were whom they said they were. Two, he assumed Dr. Chaney's story about Man Bear's death was true without proper exploration of the clinic. Imbecile."

Watching the Phantom's agitated movements, Nadir interjected with a sigh, "If we could have dredged the river without being observed, you would have done it. One piece of news I think you might find interesting, the mechanic on Chapeze Way, owns an airplane... said airplane lifted off that next morning and hasn't arrived back to the garage."

Erik's whipcord body tensed. "Get Rachel on the line, find out all flight patterns and documentation for that time period. Tell the Shade to take Darius with him and procure our friends. When he picks up Miss Daae, Chaney, Hawke and the Giry woman, have him bring them here. In the mean-time, you find us a pilot. We are going on a little trip, Daroga."

* * *

Dr. Raoul Chaney shook his head, and stared the agent in the eye. "Tell me the truth. Why did the girls keep the name Daae? It would seem to be a blinking beacon over their heads if you ask me. 'Here we are, the Daae family, ripe for the picking!' Reeser would have been less known."

"You aren't going to like my answer, Dr. Chaney. Since Christine's powers of healing are so strong, the Core wasn't afraid to use the Pentagon's plan of using them as a decoy. If someone showed interest in the obscure name of Daae, then they were someone the Core and eventually the Pentagon wanted to question.

"Core officicals worked under the assumption that if one of the family was injured, Ms. Daae could fix them. Until the murder of General Daae. It was a warning of what the government would do if crossed.

"We can't keep Christine hidden and employ decoys, for the simple reason, decoys can't heal. Without evidence of her unique ability, said decoy would be compromised. The terrorists would attack every compound known to them in search of her.

"General Daae wasn't happy with his orders, either." Agent Dugan half directed his next comment to the young woman sitting beside him. "Connie, he tried to make the three of you disappear under the grid.

"You all were caught and the Pentagon reprimanded him for his trouble. The higher-ups told him that the next time he tried, the girls would be taken from his care, and used as decoys under another commander. Not a Core officer, either. They threatened your mother with removing you from her side."

"Commendable people you work for, Agent." Raoul bit out.

Agent Dugan sighed." It beats the alternative. The Core has had it's moments like any other government group."

Changing the subject Dugan continued, "You have to commend the General for his bravery. The man waited and tried again." Agent Dugan licked his lips, looking each person in the eye. When finished he ordered, "Please keep seated all of you. I hate to say this so bluntly, Miss Daae, but General Daae didn't die of a heart attack.

" Bypassing the Core, the Pentagon waited until a time your mother was out of sight.

"Knowing she couldn't do anything once a body is clinically dead, they waited until Christine was with a woman in labor. It was obvious it would be hours before she returned to the hut. If you remember, you were teaching a primer class at that time. A native inoculated a sleeping Gustave with a new Endotoxin the government is perfecting. His heart muscle exploded without a trace of the drug."

Connie burst into tears, falling into Meg's lap. Wrapping her arms around the girl, the model rocked her back and forth. Raoul leapt to his feet, and angrily paced the narrow aisle.

Michael didn't know how to help. He listened helplessly as the girl sobbed, "Mama blames herself. She couldn't figure out why she didn't see the heart attack coming!"

Agent Dugan looked down at his hands, then stood up to try and peer out of the mist covered windows. It had started to rain and he couldn't identify anything. "You see, the gift isn't infallible. She was like anyone of us, she couldn't detect evil intent.

"A brain tumor or schizophrenia she would have noticed in the perpetrator. Evil thoughts pass most all 'healers' on by. Maybe even more so than the median population. Healers for the most part are a naïve lot, always looking to help even the most evil of humans.

"That is essentially why these unique people 'are what they are'. Why the founding Fathers decided to protect them at first, until it became politically advantageous.

"I've all ready smacked you with bad news, Connie. Please brace yourself for more. Your mother is being relocated, hence Miss Giry, Dr Chaney, and Mr. Hawke's arrival. She escaped with Mr. Hawke's help two nights ago.

"As it stands now, Leon Two Panthers has several agents posing as relatives to secure safety for his family and himself. He is working at making it look to outsiders that they erroneously think Brian Deer Tracker is missing and Jackson Man Bear has been cremated.

"Two Panthers refused to relocate his family, this was the only way we could keep tabs on them. Doctor Chaney, Ms Giry, and Mr. Hawke you are now in possesion of highly sensitive knowledge, and are answerable to the government.

"The Core wants to interview you and give you a white clearance on the issues we have discussed. Then we can once again discuss the location of Christine Daae and Jackson Man Bear."

Turning around he faced Michael Hawke. "I guess you are wondering why the Core asked for you to come here, Mr. Hawke. We need to keep you under surveillance because an unknown entity has broken through Core barriers. Because you helped Christine Daae escape, to keep you safe, we are doing what the television shows call a 'rope-a-dope'. You are now a guard in training for Miss Daae. That way we will be able to protect both of you. We can deflect hits better together than separately. We hope to wear them down and bring them out of hiding, then strike back full force.

"Don't think we haven't checked you out, thoroughly." Agent Dugan watched as Michael's adams-apple bobbed. "You aren't guilty of anything but teenaged pranks when you were younger . But if we see anything out-of-the-way, for Miss Daae's safety, we will lock you in a Pentagon guarded compound and throw away the key."


	13. Chapter 13 Not so Shabby

Chapter Thirteen

Not So Shabby

The women finished their drinks in affable silence. As Carlotta gathered up the cups and placed them in the sink, Summer excused herself and soon returned with a small box.

Knowing that curiosity was one of her greatest flaws, Christine arched her brow and ogled the parcel in Summer's arms.

Carlotta copied the eyebrow arch teasingly, then opened the tape that encased the box with a knife. Pulling out a typewritten, signed missive, she read softly, "Mother Goose will take the identity of Tabitha Murphy.

"Enclosed are identification and passport papers. She is to burn the ones she retrieved from the Cherokee village. An actress from Ohio, her grandparents raised her on a tobacco farm. Enclosed are their pictures as well as some from Tabitha's childhood.

"Able to speak three different languages..."

Christine broke in, "At least Swedish and English, Im still working on Spanish."

"She is to say..." Continued Carlotta, " She was a school teacher in South Africa. Burned out on teaching, she and her fiancé Lance Cousteau, are taking a holiday. She is here in Landon Hills to become more proficient in singing."

"More proficient? I thought, art was something most people considered pretty." Christine queried under her breath.

" Landon Hills is the host of a singing contest every year. Proceeds go to disabled high school seniors that want to go to college and major in an artistic field. The contest brings in revenue for local artists as well. The winter shuts the town down and the summer months are the only time many of the townspeople can make a living." Summer informed her as she played with the ends of her hair, as was Christine's habit.

"I thought Landon Hills was an artists retreat," Christine asked.

"The town doesn't get completely inundated with visitors. The area has so many camps and Ghost town retreats close by that most sleep out of the main town. Travel in to sell their wares is relatively short. Summer handed Christine a map.

"Mr. Reyer has outdone himself this year, he won a grant to hire a teacher for this summer's actors. At the end of the season, the last musical act standing will be taped for America's Music Scholarship Awards. The actor, singer, teacher chosen is…" Carlotta maintained a dramatic pause…"Mr. Umbaldo Piangi!"

Summer squealed quietly and jumped up and down a-la Connie Daae. Christine noticed that Carlotta seemed to look suitably impressed. Preparing for their reaction, she dropped the inevitable bomb. "Who is Umbaldo Piangi?"

"Only the best tenor in one-hundred years. You _have_ been in the boonies, girl." Summer sniffed.  
Carlotta snickered. "The Pentagon was quick to inform Mr. PiAngi that his main priority was your voice. The Core doesn't want you to win because you need to fade away into another life after the contest. The idea is to keep you in the public eye as 'Tabitha Murphy' until they can provide you with a stable life this time around.

"Once again the place will be overflowing with guards looking out for your interest but the public will only see them with other persons of interest. Gloria Evertt the movie star will be the judge and we all know she has a retinue of, how do you say it, Summer? Oh yes, I do believe hunks is the word, that follow her." Carlotta dodged a flip flop Summer kicked her way.

"But hasn't anyone listened? I. Can. Not. Sing." Christine groused, pinching the skin between her eyes.

Summer swatted her hand, "Stop that. You'll make frown lines. Something else you might have to get plastic surgery on."

"Wonderful. A lot to look forward to." Christine slumped in her chair.

Carlotta pulled a small tape recorder from the box, turning it on, she set it down on the table. Christine gasped, the recording was of her singing lullabies to Connie. The Agent forwarded the tape and a copy of Christine singing Christmas carols met her ears.

"Who said you couldn't sing, Mother Goose?" Summer questioned with a smile.

"How," sputtered Christine.

Summer lifted an eyebrow, copying Christine. "You don't think Big Daddy Core isn't always somewhere near, do you?"

"I told you the genes were there, Daae. You are a diamond in the rough. You are just going to have to practice, practice, practice, to become Tabitha Murphy in all areas."

"Ok, I make it through to the end of the season, what then?" Christine asked.

Carlotta twisted her lips to the side. "The Core is working on new placements for you, Dr. Chaney, Meghan Giry, Michael Hawke and your daughter. They would like to include Leon Two Panthers but unless some top brass sits on him, that's not likely to happen.

"Meghan too? I've ruined all their lives." Christine laid her head down dejectedly on the table. "Does anyone know who wants to kidnap me?"

"Not as of yet. We know the names of some ancillary players but not the brains."

"Its getting late, here take this box, Christine, there is more you need to familiarize yourself with. We need to get you to your real apartment so all of us can call it a night."

Christine pulled her arms through her backpack and picked up the box. Carlotta and Summer pushed the desk sitting in the office to the side. Pulling up a throw rug they uncovered a trapdoor.

Opening it, Summer smiled. "Be out in front of the Bistro at nine in the morning and Lance will meet you there."

Christine eyed Summer and asked, "Where does Lance sleep?" Summer blushed. "With me, as you, but really me."

"Oooooh." Christine grinned.

"They've been an item for quite a while. Our boss was afraid he was going to loose two good agents, so he allowed them to work together on this assignment." Carlotta climbed down the trapdoor easily, and Christine followed.

'Carlotta should be Mother Goose as much as I follow her', Christine mused.

The walk underground went quickly. Carlotta came to the end of what looked like a dead-end. Bending down, she released a latch near the floor. Tired as she was, Christine couldn't hold back a gasp. Whites and pastels completed the interior.

"I think the term is 'Shabby Chic' décor. Well worn antiques given new life. We know you have an interest in antiques and I hope you add to these during your stay. The Core wants you comfortable in your transition, Tabitha."

Tabitha. That was going to take some getting used to. Christine gave a wan smile as Carlotta showed her to her room. Her white furniture meshed in with white against white walls. Pink, sea green and light blues permeated the bedspread and other furnishings. A painted cabbage rose chandelier hung to the side.

Carlotta cleared her throat, "Take a bath, crash and I will wake you in the morning."

Christine removed her boots, allowing her toes to wiggle in the soft carpet. Taking out a clean shirt and a pair of shorts from her pack, she trudged to the bath. Opening the door she sighed. The same décor permeated the room, a claw-foot tub sat to the side.

Turning on the tap, she explored the closet. Fluffy towels, and rose scented shampoos with soap met her eyes. Choosing a loofa, and gathering up the scented goodies, Christine turned off the water.

Twenty minutes later, Carlotta looked in to say goodnight, and found a sleeping Christine sprawled across the bed. Shaking her head, the hardened agent pulled a comforter out of the closet and covered her charge.


	14. Chapter 14 The Swarm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Swarm

Carlotta dejectedly moved her eggs around on her plate. "We can eat from the diner, I guess."

"I am a wiz at open campfires and can cook rice twelve different ways, but in a normal kitchen I'm a disaster." Christine hurriedly took a swallow of milk to wash her bite of oatmeal down. "At least yours is edible, Carlotta."

Carlotta grinned as she gathered up the dishes. Christine half-stood from her chair as a familiar set of notes echoed on the air. Carlotta placed a soapy hand on her arm, "Those are code chimes. Think back, they were the same at the cottage. If you hear more, less or in a different order then there is trouble. They are changed weekly unless there is a breach of security."

"Hi guys! Lance brought this over last night, Tabitha."

Christine took the parcel from Summer. Rubbing the lavender ribbon, she murmured, "It's been opened."

Summer's face heated up. "The dress, shoes, hat and purse are for you, Tabitha, and he included something for me, Tabitha-two."

"Hmm, was it body butter again, wonder what flavor this time?" Carlotta mused.

"No…it… it…Oh, heck, it was a beautiful black negligée." Summer giggled. "Inside the purse the Core left you enough money to replace your wardrobe, Tabitha."

"Get a move on and change. We have to walk back to the cottage and return to town the normal way."

Christine enjoyed the trek to town; Carlotta allowed her room to gather her thoughts as they walked. The town was a replica of the late nineteenth century, each building restored and tastefully painted.

They passed a potter's shop and the elderly woman washing a window raised a hand in greeting. They strode by a framing shop that wasn't open yet, and a bakery that caused Christine's mouth to water.

"There's Lance." Carlotta whispered, "I need to warn you that he and Tabitha hang all over each other."

"Oh, boy." Christine groaned. Taking a deep breath and breaking stride, Christine ran up to Lance and kissed his cheek, leaving pink lip marks.

"Hola, my pretty baby!" Lance picked Christine up and swung her around. "Let me get a look at that dress. Wow. I definitely have good taste, don't you think Carlotta?"

"I plead the fifth, Lance. Did the two of you sleep well last night?"

"Yes, why?" Lance asked, going along with Carlotta.

"You must have forgotten my room was close to yours." Carlotta ignored Christine's bright red blush, turned and headed toward the Diner. "See the two of you at try-outs."

Christine peered out from under her straw hat and noticed that several vendors were grinning and looking indulgently at the couple. " I owe Carlotta one for that last comment." She shyly smiled at the grinning Latin standing at her side.

"I guess you cant help but be curious. She's a wonderful woman, that Tabitha-two. She has thrown herself into her latest project. You won't find many willing to put their best face forward, so to say. Carlotta, well, she is an acquired taste." Tucking Christine's arm in the crook of his, Lance started down the wooden sidewalk.

Christine noticed that no one was near, "What kind of degree did Carlotta say she was acquiring?"

Lance stood behind her, wrapping long arms around her waist. Placing his mouth close to her ear he whispered, "She is working on being a female ninja." He laughed as Christine's grew round. Playfully snatching her hat he held it out of her reach.

Going along with him, Christine squealed and tried to reach it. "Give it back, you barbarian!" Within a couple of hours, Christine had a new wardrobe delivered to the cottage. She and Lance ate lunch at a new establishment called, 'Maude's Diner'.

On the return trip home, Christine stopped to watch an artist weaving a cane chair bottom. Young giggles and squeals sounded from the back of the store as several children rounded the corner.

Christine stopped in her tracks. She heard the frantic buzzing of what sounded like bees. Lance must have heard them too, his alert gaze scanned the eaves of the building as his nostrils flared at the sudden odor. The air seemed to become closed and fetid, taking on the smell of rotting eggs.

Christine shuddered. A familiar chill racked her body. Searching for the cause, she noticed that the smallest curly-headed boy was standing by himself, winded, unable to keep up with the others. Above his head a large, brown hornet's nest hung from a gutter.

She clutched the agent's sleeve in a clammy grip. Lance immediately gestured for the child to come forward. The buzzing started to escalate and hundreds of hornets burst from the nest as if shot by a cannon. In seconds, a moving, poisonous cloud hung over the boy.

In battle mode, Lance glanced around, no one else seemed aware of the danger. The kid's father was talking to the proprietor next door. Not wanting to scare the child, he dropped Christine's arm, ready to pull him away from the danger.

Lance's back stiffened. Did the nest fall? It wasn't there any longer. The boy seemed tired, but unharmed. The confused agent turned to ask Christine where the monstrosity had gone, when she rushed past his side.

She picked up the boy wrapping him in her arms, covering the child with a crochet shawl she had purchased earlier. Lance's eyes widened behind his sunglasses. Bursting like bubbles, hundreds of red welts appeared on Christine's creamy colored skin. Her arms and exposed legs twitched as if someone was hitting her with rocks.

Rendered harmless to the boy, the hornets angrily took their malevolence out on Christine. Finished with their work, the swarm resembled a large black hand whose fingers grasped strands of her hair, yanking viciously as they disappeared into the sky. Christine took a breath, glad to feel the child struggling against his confines.

Lance attempted to move forward to help, but his spine jarred from neck to waist. Held tightly, he could only describe the sensation being akin to walking in knee-high mud. Christine had waved him away. In what felt like hours to the Latin agent, but in reality was only a few minutes, Christine raised her head and unwrapped the child.

The boy looked up at her questioningly and she smiled, placing him on his feet.

"What is your name?"

"Bradley Morris, Mam," he lisped.

"Well young Bradley, I'm glad to have met you. Why don't you go on and play with your brothers and sister." Smiling shyly, the boy took off.

Checking out the townspeople, Lance noted that not one single person acknowledged the incident.

Christine walked wearily to Lance. He grimaced, some guard he was. He hadn't seen a single hornet attack his charge, but he had definately seen the results. The strange thing was his feet were only able to move when the boy raced off.

Taking her trembling chin in his hand, he examined the rapidly fading stings. Answering the question Lance dared not ask, she mouthed, 'later'. Taking a deep breath he looked around and asked, "It's been a long morning, love. Are you sure you still want to try-out?"

"No, I'm fine. Let's hurry before we are late." She hooked her achy arm through Lance's.

Christine gasped, startled when Lance pulled her into an alley beside the diner. He wrapped his arms around her, placing her head in his neck. "What just happened," he whispered.

Rubbing his back, trying to keep in character, Christine sighed, "The child has leukemia. Evidently he and his family are unaware. The cancer was preparing to harm him as much as it could before diagnosis. The plan was to eventually take his life."

"I saw it, I really did, but it disappeared. Hey! How did you know what a disease was planning?"

"Sometimes, not always, when a person is touching me they can see the illnesses. The only people this has happened to was my father, Raoul, and now yourself. Evidently the dirge Leon and Michael were singing for Jackson connected us in someway enabling them to see it too.

"Not all diseases or injuries are open in order for me to discern its purpose. I've noticed I can understand more when the victim is innocent like a child or a mentally challenged individual. I don't know if other 'healers' can read injuries or not."

"Are you sure you feel up to this, welts covered you from head to foot."

"Yes, Lance. I feel fine, considering that in a while, a famous singer is going to listen to me sing, and I can't carry a tune in a bucket." Christine pulled a face as they broke apart to face the diner. "I only know one way to fix the situation and I've never done that before."


	15. Chapter 15 In a Moment

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Right Moment

It took all of fifteen minutes to make the individual called Nix to talk. Erik finished pouring whiskey down the man's swollen throat. It was fortunate the full moon was hidden behind a thick cloud cover.

The beat up Chevy had settled at the bottom of the ravine without hitch. Night bugs had once again started to call after the unusual disturbance. Nodding in satisfaction, Erik contemplated his next move. They couldn't afford another murder to show up on the reservation. The outcropping of rock was just what they needed.

Erik watched the Ratcatcher wind a thick vine around the tortured man's neck, then down to one of his twitching feet, making sure it wrapped around a wrist and through his hand. It must look like he hung himself trying to climb out of the ravine while in a drunken state. He observed satisfied as Ratcatcher threw Nix's struggling body over the side.

Erik tossed the empty bottle beside the victim. Long coat flapping in time with his long strides, he returned to the black car waiting at the side of the road.

* * *

"I have another show here tomorrow, Uncle Raoul, Aunt Meg. There is enough room for three more people. Why don't you stay here tonight? We will look at things differently in the morning." Connie wiped her eyes then delicately blew her nose on Raoul's handkerchief.

She looked up as Agent Dugan agreed, "Good idea, Miss Daae. The Core needs to update Michael on basic protocol. We want him to at least look like he knows what he is doing until he is fully trained.

"If the group behind the beatings have done their homework, they are well aware that the three closest people to Ms. Daae are right here on this bus."

"I guess we've decided, then." Raoul leaned back in his seat. He looked exhausted.

"I have to leave tomorrow though, I'm scheduled for a photo shoot in France in three days." Meghan shrugged.

Connie smiled as Michael Hawke directed his answer to her, "I'm game."

"Ok, let me apprise my contact of the situation." Agent Dugan stepped out of the bus, speaking into his earpiece for the other agents to rendezvous.

* * *

Raoul turned for the hundredth time. He had slept on grass mats before in mosquito infested huts, but this narrow bed was worse than those. He sighed. Outside the occasional wail of a siren faded as the night crept slowly forward.

Staring at the ceiling, the exhausted doctor realized that Meghan must have fared about the same, she had just come back inside from smoking her fifth cigarette.

Listening to Dr. Chaney toss and turn down the hall, Michael Hawke laid awake on the living room couch. Muscled arms behind his head, he tried to place each piece of the past few days in the correct spot. Rubbing his temples, he growled, no matter how he rearranged his memories, he kept coming up with the same jumbled montage.

He had already concluded that Christine was a wonderful person on her own merit. Who wanted to do her harm? Why? Then there was the tribe to consider. He couldn't wrap his head around the 'Kaylona Alyeliski and the Maiden' story. Why did the elders bring up that old story now? Made of clay…well the bible did say God created man from dust. Crap. He was going to drive himself crazy looking for answers.

He could say one thing, Christine sure had a beautiful daughter. Connie was the epitome of the word 'starlet'. Dark hair curled on her shoulders and violet eyes rivaled Elizabeth Taylor. Slim where Christine was a mature curvy, she was hot… hot… hot…Turning over he punched his pillow. He couldn't win. It smelled like the floral perfume she wore.

When he rescued his quilt from the floor, Hawke realized the guards had changed shifts quite some time ago. 'Red' had yet to come back in. Strange, the man's partner couldn't wait to come inside and get some sleep.

Deciding that fresh air might help him relax, Michael slipped on his jeans. Opening the door he stuck a bare foot outside. A million stars exploded in his head, and everything rushed into darkness.

* * *

The Shade pat his pocket making sure the vial and handkerchief were still there. The bus was silent, he hadn't seen a guard since his arrival. He frowned. The Core was getting so complacent that they were sloppy.

Staying in the shadows, the man called Shade cautiously opened the front door. He quirked an eyebrow. The overhead security light failed to flare. Stepping inside he crouched in order to survey the interior. It looked like someone had turned the bus upside down and shaken it like a child's snow-globe.

Splintered and upturned furniture met his eyes, along with tattered curtains hanging from the windows. There were several holes in the walls along the hall. It only took a few minutes to ascertain that Miss Daae and her guests were gone.

The Shade was only somewhat relieved that there weren't any bullet holes in the walls or shell casings on the floor. Making a quick retreat outside, the young man almost tripped over an arm sticking out from under the stage floor.

Taking the time to pull the arm across the disturbed gravel, Shade realized it belonged to a forty-something Caucasian with his throat slashed. Methodically, he checked the suit pockets. Nothing. Shaking his head, he definitely wished right about now that someone else could report to the Phantom.

* * *

It had been a long flight, but Erik insisted they memorized the town before daylight. The Phantom had easily located Ms Daae's cottage while the town slept. Nadir shook his head in exasperation. His friend had been totally unprepared to find a man in bed with her. A normal occurrence for such a pretty woman. Why it would bother his world-weary friend was the question.

Nadir watched as Erik fought with himself, skeletal body tense and hands clenched. The dark intruder could easily have done away with the stranger as he slept. Nadir was grateful they didn't have a place ready to stash the woman or Erik would have done just that.

Nadir was going to remind the younger man his participation was contingent on no more murders. He knew it was a thin technicality: Erik hadn't physically committed two of the killings, but they occurred under his watch. The former police chief was afraid without his influence, his friend would use murder as an easy road to his goal.

Both men tensed as the sleeping woman scooted closer to bury her head under the man's chin. Her bow-shaped mouth lifted at the corners contentedly. Nadir observed, ready to intervene, as Erik tilted his head to better study the man. Hate radiated from the tall spectre's body. Nadir shook his head sadly, Erik's malevolent emotion was for no other reason than the chiseled angles of the man's dark, normal features; ones so unlike his own.

'What does she see in this Ricky Ricardo look-alike? Poor Dr. Chaney. He is probably waking up in chains right about now, and his love is in the arms of another man.' The Phantom sneered to himself. Long skeletal fingers motioned for the Daroga to leave, and with one last look, he followed close behind.

Erik didn't trust Bouquet too long by himself at the hideout. The old man's record spoke for itself. His men needed to rest, tomorrow night was plenty of time to tie up loose ends. He still needed to hear from the Shade before doing anything. His young student wasn't expected to report in for a couple of more hours.

The abandoned cabin was comfortable enough for a night or so until they met up with their contact, and Erik had collected his cash.

* * *

Waiting in the shadows of a pottery shop, Erik wished he could pace. Every muscle was tense. Since the moment he had taken on this mission, nothing but trouble had dogged it. The death of that teenaged boy was an accident, Darius was new and over reacted, and the Ratcatcher...well, there was no denying it, the man enjoyed killing as if it were a favorite sport. Be it man or beast.

There were too many other incidents For it to be all Bouquet. No question, he had a mole to route. To make things worse, the Daroga kept up an irritating litany regarding the need to abort. Nadir was forgetting that it wasn't healthy to irritate Erik.

Shade had made his report exactly on time. The news was abysmal. Erik shrugged. The health of the three kidnap victims weren't his responsibility. He could do without them.

Bouquet's orders were to watch the Daae woman. He could be found nowhere. With a sense of foreboding, Erik had entered the cottage once again. Disappointed, he found that the Angel and her new man weren't at home. Bouquet he would deal with later, the man had made one mistake too many.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Erik heard music drifting from an establishment down the road. Maybe the couple were taking in a show. Nodding his head toward the Diner, Erik left the Daroga to follow.

Nadir strode in and sat down at a polished table in the darker area behind the door. Attired in dress jeans and a western shirt, he passed for a member of one of the native tribes that called Montana home.

Pulling his hoodie up over his head, Erik silently joined him. A black uniformed waitress stopped by the table. Nadir ordered ice tea for the two of them. Her lackluster hazel eyes gave Erik a carless glance, not even taking a second look at his mask.

Leaving, she shrugged her shoulders. These artsy types were all weird. She should have listened to her mother and married a rich man.

Erik sipped his drink, eyes searching the crowd for the Angel. Craft vendors and artists comprised the audience. There was someone in the top with a video camera. That meant he and the Daroga would have to be vigilant. So far it trained solely on the stage.

Evidently the upcoming number was the last one for tonight. Thank goodness, the angular red-head, introduced as La Carlotta, could curdle milk.

Unimpressed, he turned with the crowd when the emcee announced Umbaldo Piangi's name. The lights dimmed and a curvy blonde joined the tenor on stage. Erik sat up straight. He hadn't paid attention to her name.

Whoever she was, she stood resplendent in a 1940's retro, sequined, red gown. She seemed rather nervous. Irritated, Erik cursed the lighting. It was all wrong, glaring on the tenor while most of her face was in the shadows. The only clear features were her red lips and firm chin by the microphone.

Back in front of the camera, Nadir had unobtrusively searched the tables while making a trip to the restroom. He hadn't spotted their target. The strains from the song 'From This Moment On', began to fill the room. Not a peep could be heard from the audience. Leaning back in his chair and sighing, Nadir was in complete awe.

Sitting back up, the Persian man felt a strange sensation skitter through his body. One he hadn't felt in years. Giving the room a once-over again, he shrugged. He hadn't felt that sensation in so long...What was wrong with him? He'd been around Erik for too long, that's what was the matter with him. Shooting a sly glance at his friend, Nadir frowned. It looked as if Erik had forgotten to swallow the tea he had sipped. That could only mean trouble.

That voice! The Phantom had traveled the world over and had never heard a voice like that. Obviously untrained, of course, but the woman had the voice of a real Angel. What he couldn't do with an instrument like that! Erik's eyes dilated. This was her! His long-awaited complement. The voice that matched his own.

He had to hurry this business with the Daae woman. He had other more important things to do now.


	16. Chapter 16 The Kitten Has Claws

Chapter Sixteen

The Kitten has Claws

"Are you sure you are Native American, Hawke?"

Michael Hawke groaned and licked his dry lips. His shoulders ached; he couldn't seem to move them for love nor money. "What happened…my arms?"

Snapping open his eyes, Hawke questioned,"What do you mean, am I sure, Doc.?" Hawke gazed around him, eyes wide at the sight of the doctor and the two women tied in airplane seats. Dr. Chaney's ripped shirt showed bruising on his ribs and both of his eyes were swollen.

Meghan's hair was fraying out of her weave and her night-clothes were dirty. He couldn't see Connie from his position.

"This is the third time this week you have let someone send you to la-la land and one of them was by a woman. I thought you Cherokee couldn't be caught off guard." Raoul groused. "You're trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey just like the rest of us."

Hawke strained to look over his shoulder as Raoul's face turned red, and a familiar voice broke in.

"Welcome, Mr. Hawke. So glad you decided to join us." The voice sneered.

"Oooh! I trusted you! Why are you doing this Agent Dugan?" Connie spat.

'Dugan?' Hawke commiserated with Connie's obvious sense of betrayal.

"Ahh, so the cuddly kitten has claws after all."

Hawke's stomach turned over as Lance Dugan took the umbrella from his drink and stuck it behind Connie's ear. The traitorous man slowly allowed his hand to trail down her face.

Leaning over, placing his hands on the arms of the seat, the fake agent smiled lazily, "Why don't we all agree that it will be easier if someone tells me where our Christine is? It would save a lot of trouble."

Without warning Connie retaliated,"You jerk." She spat in his face.

His gaze never left the angry girl, Lance calmly retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his chin, "It will," He continued, "prevent the majority of things like _this_ from happening." In one quick motion he backhanded Connie.

Hawke and Raoul struggled with their handcuffs as Meg's screams of shock and anger echoed through the plane.

Connie turned her head back to Dugan, mouth grim, eyes narrowed, she used the tip of her tongue to remove the blood trickling from the corner of her lips.

Pinning Meg with his gaze, Lance ordered, "I advise you to curb your vocal enthusiasm Ms. Giry, unless you fancy the same treatment as your friend."

Hawke gritted his teeth as Lance turned to the men and tisked, "Where are you going, gentlemen? We are thousands of feet above the Pacific Ocean. The only way out, is down."

"Where are you taking us?" Squaring her shoulders, Connie bravely spoke up.

"Well, you see, that depends on what information you can give us." Lance sat down by the disheveled woman and crossed his legs, swinging his foot in time to an internal rhythm.

"Oh, and don't get your hopes hopes up, no tracking devices or other such nonsense can follow this plane. This is a private jet, anti-surveillance and all those technical...things." He shrugged.

Darting a glance at Connie, he sighed, "I'm ninety-nine percent sure you don't have new information, Miss Daae. After all, for a few weeks now I have monitored each of your calls. You have little value to us in that arena. In reality, if it wasn't for the fact that you are her daughter, we would have no use for you at all.

"That was an interesting tidbit of information you were discussing with Mr. Hawke, Doctor Chaney. Something about a woman getting the best of Mr. Hawke? Do share."

Knowing he was a terrible liar, Hawke tilted his head to the side, hoping to enable his long hair to hide his face. Using his best embarrased voice, the young brave interjected, "Lori Shepherd drank me under the table the other night, and Doc drove me home. I don't like to talk about it much. I'm a cheap drunk."

"Yes, he was plastered. As his doctor, I am seriously concerned about his liver," Raoul cut in.

"Oh. Hmm." Lance Dugan stood up and stretched, making a show of shaking out his legs and arms. "Well, since we will be flying _several_ more hours, I think I will visit the lavatory, although it's been a while since any of you have visited the facilities, hasn't it? Come to think of it, I'll refresh this cool drink while I am at it.

"While I am gone, I suggest the four of you get together and brainstorm the real answer."

Once the man had returned to the front of the plane, Connie rubbed her mouth on the shoulder of her pajamas. Closing her eyes and leaning her head back, she reflected out loud, "I think we're screwed."

* * *

Erik waited until the crowd had thinned down. Silently he melted into the shadows, he didn't want any disturbances while he observed the pretty songbird. As if watching a specimen under a microscope, he memorized every nuance. For the first time in his life he was captivated by another person. She carried herself with a natural confidence, arm and body movements graceful.

She had shapely, strong legs and the three inch heels she wore seemed an adjunct to them. He noticed right away that blonde was popular among her peers. Erik closed his eyes and savored her laugh. It was low and pleasing to his ear. Each sound a come-hither sigh to his love-starved soul. The stage light encircled her blonde hair in a halo-like aura.

Smiling brown eyes bathed his psyche in an unfamiliar warmth. A voice in the back of his mind questioned, unfamiliar? His core responded to her as if he had known her a lifetime. There was no question, this woman was Alpha to his Omega. Of course she would feel familiar. He had always scoffed at the idea of...Soulmates.

Erik blinked. Several dancers had stopped to give her a high-five. She was a natural. With his tutoring she would own any stage. He set his jaw when Piangi enveloped her tiny waist in an overly enthusiastic hug. That would have to soon cease.

The Phantom's deep-set eyes widened, he curled his body deeper into the shadows. As he stepped farther back, La Carlotta turned the corner. She stopped and surveyed the stage. Erik relaxed. She had failed to look behind her. Seemingly satisfied she hooked arms with the singer. That was close. The dratted woman came from nowhere. Irritated, Erik watched the two women disappear into a dressing room.

Erik tilted his head, Piangi was talking to someone. "I had my doubts when she tried out. But today, Magnifico! I was prepared to carry the song. She spread her wings and flew! I don't know where you found her, Señor Reyer, but she is going places!" Umbaldo announced.

'She will be 'going' home wiith Erik,' the Phantom answered in his thoughts as he followed the shadows to a side exit.

* * *

Lounging on the slate roof of the bank across from the diner, Erik waited for Nadir. It was the perfect place for keeping an eye on the diner exits. The building was higher than the diner, all three exits were visable. He had looped the security cameras to run a continuous scene. It would be easy for Erik to stay undetected now. He could follow the singer when she left the diner without problems.

Out of breath, Nadir settled himself apprehensively. The bank roof was steep. He had been ordered to find out the blonde singer's name. Erik wasn't going to like what he had to say.

Eyes trained on the diner doors, Erik dryly commented, "Getting old, or too much chocolate, my friend?"

Sniffing in irritation, Nadir hoped he could tell his findings without being thrown from the roof. "Her name is Tabitha Murphy."

The Phantom's eyes glittered brightly in the dark. Erik spared Nadir a quick glance. "Daroga, you need your hearing checked, all you do is mumble. I thought you said her name was Tabitha Murphy. If thats so, you are mixing her up with Ms. Daae's new alias."

Nadir rolled his upper lip and blasted Erik in Arabic. "I am not the one headed for the nursing home, you dufus. Your music saturated ears are what's failing. She left her purse on a chair in the wings and I took a look-see. Her. Name. Is. Tabitha. Murphy."

Nadir eyed his companion. "I understand your reasoning, Erik, regarding Ms Daae, but nothing good can come from this. You are older, more worldly, even charasmatic when you want to be.

"There are some good people in the world who will not let your face influence them. Find a woman on other merits than her voice, you've set the bar too high, and narrowed the field to an unreasonably small group.

"Even though we haven't discussed it, I know you have always waited and dreamed for a woman like this. We have been friends a long time, no? You still need to procure the Angel of Healing first.

"Let us take the easiest scenario. What if this singer just knows Ms Daae, she borrowed her purse or something of that nature. That complicates things ten-fold. The little entertainer isn't going to appreciate something happening to her friend. All the more reason to abandon this ridiculous..."

Erik hissed a warning, and Nadir immediately stopped. Ambling down the alley two men were conversing in low tones. Every so often they would examine darkened doorways and behind garbage cans.

"Ok Bouquet, here is half. You'll get the rest when you deliver the target, and prove that that damn aberration of nature, The Phantom, is dead."


	17. Chapter 17 Spider Sense

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Spider Sense

**Hello everyone! Just a reminder that I am still going through previous chapters trying to correct grammar errors. It may have changed plot hints somewhat but not the plot itself. You might want to reread while waiting for more .**

Locking the door, Carlotta held her finger up to her lips. Pulling a gun from her thigh holster she leaned against the door to listen. Pointing to the antique mirror in back of the room, she gestured Christine forward.

She watched Christine work the lock, the mirror slid forward and her charge disappeared behind it. Quietly unlocking the door, Carlotta followed Christine.

* * *

"I didn't see anyone, just the tweaking of my sixth sense which has kept me alive on several occasions these past few years." Carlotta paced the living room.

"This is quicker than what we thought," Reyer mused.

The door chimes sounded and Summer answered it. Swinging it open she allowed Lance followed by Alan to enter, guns at their sides.

"We didn't see anyone out of the ordinary. The cottage is secure, for now. We cleared the site all the way to the barn." Lance spoke to the room, but had eyes only for Summer.

"You sure your 'Spidey Sense' wasn't out of control, Carlotta?" Alan smiled at the pacing agent. He raised his hands as she turned to lambast him. "Whoa, just kidding. We have to thank the stars for your Ninja training. Even though we didn't see any thing suspicious the cottage security cameras have been tampered with, so there is indeed cause for concern."

"You and I need to go upside and procure some landscaping materials. 'Tabitha' needs to place some well situated rocks and garden gnomes before daylight. We will have to drive to one of those twenty-four hour mega stores," Lance informed Summer.

"We did a complete sweep and didn't find any bugs," Alan added.

Reyer held up a finger, silence ensued as he readjusted his ear piece. "There is a message on the handheld device, Carlotta."

Striding to the kitchen, Carlotta opened the bread box.

"Seriously. Bread box Carlotta," Alan teased.

Looking sheepish Carlotta returned, "Would you have looked under a loaf of half eaten wheat bread, Agent?"

"Message, please," Reyer groused.

Christine held her breath as Carlotta scanned the device. Looking up, Carlotta handed the device to Reyer, and sat down beside Christine.

"Daae, Chaney, Giry, Hawke… disappearance 04:45… Vermont… amphitheatre grounds. Agent Williams dead, Agent Dugan, Agent Polen MIA," Reyer read.

As the others dwelled on lost comrades, tears welled up in Christine's eyes. Summer sat on the other side and clasped her trembling hand. "I should have let them take me. Now who knows what danger my baby is in? Not to mention Meg and Raoul!"

"Can't be any talk like that leave this room, Tabitha. Even though we understand, your vow not to abdicate for any situation is the _only_ reason you aren't in a specially guarded bunker as we speak." Reyer's mustache twitched faster under his stern admonition.

"We have to wait for our orders. Lance, Tabitha-two, go get that gardening equipment. Be sure to come up with an excuse as to why Tabitha wants to put them up in the dead of the night.

"Alan, stand guard at the bird's nest. Use a sniper gun if needed. Looks like the situation warrants round the clock surveillance. Carlotta, Tabitha, carry on as planned."

"Tabitha, you wow'd the audience tonight, how long have you been able to sing like that?" Hand on the door knob, Alan questioned the sobbing woman.

Lifting her head from Summer's shoulder and sniffing, Christine wiped her eyes on a tissue. "It is something I've never tried, in fact never thought of before. Eyes are supposed to see, fingers move, stomachs digest: well, I had never considered that a larynx was created to carry a perfect note."

Alan smirked, "Hilarious. You used your gift on yourself didn't you?"

Christine pursed her lips, "You could say that."

Carlotta and Summer spoke at once."When did you figure out you could do that?"

Discretely blowing her nose, Christine then answered, "Five minutes before the show."

**This chapter will be in two parts, see you later.**


	18. Chapter 17 part two

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-PART TWO

Dark silhouettes

Bouquet stood still for a few minutes as the other man's steps faded away. Turning his baseball cap around, he pat his shirt pocket. His steps felt lighter. Now he could go back to that house and wait for the Daae woman. He smiled, it wasn't as if she was going anywhere with that big Latino in her bed.

Pulling on his ear he wondered, 'Bet the Doc will have a conniption when he learns this tidbit. Wonder how much she would pay for me not to let the cat out of the bag?'

Bouquet shivered, it was sure cold for a summer night. Hunching his shoulders, head down, he ambled toward the main crossroad in town. Metal meeting brick rang on the night air. Heart pounding, Bouquet's blood flooded his face. It flushed a florid color as the noise repeated itself.

He knew that punk had a shifty look about 'em. Just let that no good lackey try to sneak up behind him and get the moolah back. He was going to find he was on the wrong side of Joseph Bouquet.

Flicking open his knife, Bouquet returned to stealthily walk toward the cans in question. His mouth dried out and his tongue stuck to the roof. Come to think of it, the other man was a lot younger than he. His ears picked up a frizzing sound. A bug met its doom on a light bulb a few doors down.

He had to readjust his hold on the knife, perspiration dripped down his neck and back. His hands were damp as his ears picked up breathing behind the trio of cans. Maybe he should throw the money down and run. He froze, cursing inside, as a cloud slid across the moon blocking his sight. He jumped, hair standing on end as a shrill scream echoed across the brick alley.

A tabby cat, claws skittering, chased a mouse under the next building. Bouquet heaved a sigh, wiping his forehead with his arm. No cause for alarm. It was dark as sin, that would make anyone jumpy. He'd be glad to get out of this alley. Man, he couldn't see a damn thing.

Looking up he noticed the rooftops ahead were awash with soft light. Turning around, he looked back up to see two glittering yellow stars hovering above the roof. Arms lifted akin to some great night-bird, it emitted a ghastly wail. He lost control of his bladder the very moment the catgut tightened on his throat.

* * *

Nadir checked his watch for the umpteenth time. Where was Erik? He never took this long in Orin; he was in and out before an enemy could bat an eye. It was a shame, but it was nothing new for the masked man to find himself in a kill or be killed situation.

The Persian watched helplessly as the Daae woman and companion left the cottage. They drove away in the Latino's 1958 Apache truck. The license plate was mud splattered making it impossible to read.

The couple sure as heck didn't leave the Diner by normal means, or he would have seen them. Speaking of seeing, he was going to have to get his eyes checked. Once again he rubbed his eyes. For the past fifteen minutes or so he kept seeing red floaters… Wait!

Scooting flat against the pitch of the roof, using his binoculars, Nadir scanned the town. There, he saw it again. Someone was keeping watch in the church bell tower. The so-called floaters were an infra-red scope light. The Angel couldn't be the target; the shooter had plenty of time, not to mention a clear shot.

Immediately crouching down, Nadir crawled to the exhaust duct. Scooting backward along the slate he carefully made sure he was out of sight of the sniper. A sharp pain lacerated his left buttock. He grumbled in four different languages, something had ripped his pants leaving a cut on his rear.

It was metal whatever it was. Watching the light pan across his hiding space, Nadir waited to unhook the material. He couldn't tell what it was by feel. Irritated at the piece of metal, he bent it over into several small circles.

Looking at the alley, Nadir muttered harder. He wasn't there yet, but if Erik came back that way he would be in the shooter's sights. Making a quick crouching dash, Nadir made his way down the bank's walls barely ahead of the sniper's light.

Keeping to the shadows he limped into the opposite alleyway. There were several taller buildings that would hinder the sniper's sight . Following it to the next road, Nadir sat at a trolley stop. Picking up a paper, ignoring his bleeding posterior, he acted like he was reading. Cautiously he punched in his number for the new untraceable communicator Erik had invented.

He wasn't disappointed. Five minutes later, looking down at the sidewalk, Nadir noticed a black-clad foot appear.

"Handy device. Works well." Erik bent and retied his shoe. He spoke as talking to himself then turned away from town disappearing into the forest. Nadir waited, made certain no one else was about, then used a different route to follow.


	19. Chapter 18 From over the Rainbow

**A/n I don't own the Wizard of Oz, Spider-Man or Star Trek.**

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

From Over the Rainbow

Cameras flashed reminiscent of a disco ball: The room changed to an unnatural silence as the television camera panned to a worn looking, gray-haired woman standing by a CIA liaison. The official looked down at her and nodded. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped up to the podium.

Her blue-veined hands clenched together, knuckles white, "My name is Antoinette Giry. I am the mother of Miss Meghan Giry, who disappeared yesterday in Vermont. She was supposed to be at a photo shoot tomorrow and has not arrived to prepare. This is not like her.

"Please, if you have any information call the number on the screen." Dabbing at her eyes, she stepped down.

Stepping up in her place, a well dressed couple looked out to the press. The salt-and-pepper haired gentleman spoke first. "We are Marshall and Peggy Chaney. Our son, Dr. Raoul Chaney was with Meghan Giry upon her disappearance."

Interrupting her husband, Peggy Chaney leaned over to speak in the microphone, "Please, please, return these young people, we are begging you as worried, heartbroken par…" Her voice broke and she laid her head on her husband's shoulder, crying.

A representative from Everett Enterprises straightened his tie and replaced the broken couple at the podium. "My name is Theodore Wingfield; I represent the Leroux Agency. We are the company that Miss Connie Daae works for. She is one of these missing young people. They were all sleeping in her tour bus. Our company is offering a one hundred thousand dollar reward for the safe return of their up and coming star.

"America, if you have anything to help with the investigation, please call the number on the screen."

Christine sat transfixed as she watched the news. Carlotta handed her a new tissue, the distraught mother had shredded the one in her hand to pieces. Standing by the couch, Carlotta returned to the proceedings.

The camera moved to follow a dignified Native American man to the podium. "My name is Robert Man-Bear. I am shaman of the Cherokee nation, I am a retired plastics worker, and I am a grandfather and a father. I am here to speak to you as a father. A young man by the name of Michael Hawke is also missing. He was with this group of young men and women that night. We ask you in all humbleness to return our children to us."

Christine sat back and closed her eyes, listening for Connie's name as reporters bombarded the families.

"One guard dead and two missing..."

"Hello, Mr. Wingfield, is it true the murdered guard was linked to several other murders discovered in the Cherokee Reservation? Did the Leroux Agency provide those guards?"

"Is it race related, since Mr. Hawke was there?"

"Mrs. Giry, we understand that a local bank set up an account to help post reward for the others that are missing."

"Mr. Man-Bear, our sources say Dr. Chaney's nurse has also disappeared and has not been reported missing…"

Carlotta turned the television off and threw the remote on the couch in disgust. "That's something for the records! The Core has some damage control to do.

"Come on Tabitha, let's get to practice early, heaven knows I need it. Hey, do you think you can do some of that voodoo magic on my voice?"

Christine gathered up her bag and tried to smile, "If Piangi will 'wander his traveling hands' from me to you, gladly sister."

Carlotta snorted, "He's not so bad. Just think of a big empty-headed teddy bear."

* * *

Reyer was beginning to get hot under the collar. This was the third time he had to explain to Piangi that he was not going to change the lighting.

"Excuse me Mr. Reyer, I am a reporter from WIOG, is there any way you can delay the start of the contest? Someone tampered with our equipment last night. We didn't realize it until we were setting the cameras back up a few minutes ago. Replacement equipment is leaving the station as we speak."

Reyer sucked air in through his nose, mustache whipping in agitation. "Our judge Gloria, from 'Rags to Riches' is over there, gentlemen. Do you think if you explained to her the delay and asked to interview her, it would buy us some time? Thank goodness this isn't live coverage."

"Mr. Piangi, may we interview you also?" The eager reporter grasped at the opportunity.

"You can interview me now." Piangi offered.

"Oh, no sir. I'm a college student in training; one of the real reporters will have to do that."

"Hmmf. Amateurs." Piangi snapped his fingers and stalked off the stage.

Reyer grabbed a young street comedian from the audience. "Here is your chance at stardom, son. We need a few minutes distraction. Don't blow it."

From behind the stage props, Alan yawned, "No pressure, huh, Reyer." Reyer darted a glare in Alan's direction .

Twenty minutes later, the station was still waiting for the replacements. Reyer couldn't hold the audience off any longer. The stressed owner stood on stage and the curtains opened.

Christine waited patiently for her cue. Rubbing her neck, she prayed that whatever had helped her larynx held up. She smiled; the young comedian carried himself well. She hoped Reyer gave him some stage time from now on.

She watched a confident young teen dressed in the same outfit she had on, belt out, 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

She was next, singing in a quartet with Piangi as the Cowardly Lion and two younger men as the Scarecrow and Tin Man.

She made it through her first routine with the Scarecrow, singing, 'If You Only Had A Brain.'

Next was a comedy routine with the two young actors, ending with Piangi whining, "I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do. I do…"

Christine gasped in time with the audience. A munchkin clad body crashed through a ceiling tile to swing to and fro directly in front of Piangi.

Utter pandemonium ensued. Screams rent the room as patrons made a frantic exodus from the front tables. Fire! Someone screamed, as smoke trickled from the kitchen.

Before she reached Christine's side, Carlotta felt a hand on her back. The agent tumbled over the side of the stage directly under the feet of the crowd.

Fighting his way through the milling, hysterical diners, Alan rolled under the stage. Swiftly crawling, he tried to make it to the trapdoor mid-stage.

The smoke alarms now added their cacophony to the room. The lights flickered out. Reyer held his hand up for Christine to grasp. Out of the smoke another hand stunned his forearm with a karate chop, in seconds he found himself thrown against the wall.

Unable to see, Christine jumped down into what she thought were Reyer's arms. Coughing, she felt a cloth cover her mouth...


	20. Chapter 19 Small Miracles

Chapter Nineteen

Small Miracles

Darius nodded to the Ratcatcher as he hiked by his post. Opening the door he placed his back pack on the table. The Boss was up as usual. His clothing clean and pressed as always.

Erik opened the pack and placed the articles on the rickety cabinet. From the corner a loud snore erupted from the sleeping occupant.

With quiet efficiency, the Phantom set a pot of water on the old wood stove, arranging the articles to make tea and slicing open the pack of bacon.

Darius pulled a folded newspaper out from his jacket and laid it on the table. "I think you would want to read this. Is she awake?"

Erik shook his head, "I will read it at leisure after the woman wakes. Nadir must have made the chloroform replacement a little strong for her constitution."

"No, Nadir didn't make it too strong for her constitution, it wasn't meant to be held over a half suffocated victim! I thought you were going to smother her before we got out of the building!"

Darius swallowed, backing away from the Phantom, shooting the reclining Nadir a questioning look.

"I see the injury has increased your normal irritating mood, I should have known. The cut must hurt considerably, considering you are ass all over."

"Why, you over grown giraffe, why I…" Nadir stopped; there was a sound from the partitioned off bedroom.

"Darius, go outside and find more wood. Nadir, take over the bacon."

To Nadir's ear, the Phantom's voice sounded strained.

Erik washed a chipped cup, filling it with tea. He placed a lump of sugar in it and stirred. Tilting his head, reconsidering, he added a second lump.

Rolling slowly to his feet, Nadir watched as the other man pulled leather gloves over his pale hands. His anger melted as Erik straightened his mask and picked up the tea. "Choose your words carefully. Remember you just happen to be her kidnapper, and she has no idea what you want."

* * *

Christine gradually woke up. Brr, it was cold. She reached for the blanket covering her and pulled it over her head. Frowning, she suddenly realized she had a bitter taste in her mouth.

Sitting up she looked at her attire. Blue checks wove in and out of her vision. Ok, she continued to wear the Dorothy costume. She still smelled smoke mixed with the faint aroma of bacon. She must have gotten a small case of smoke inhalation.

Placing an unsteady hand to her forehead she frowned, squinting her eyes. Were those male voices in the next room? She gazed at her surroundings as her vision cleared. Swinging her legs to the side she placed her feet on the floor hoping to wiggle her toes in her warm carpet.

Christine quit wiggling her toes. They weren't warm and toasty, or encased in soft white. The small digits where freezing on a hard, cold surface…a wooden surface.

Her vision continued to clear and Christine wobbled to her feet. Feeling slightly light-headed she stared at what resembled timber walls. Looking down she noticed she had lain on a sleeping-bag on an ancient, wobbly cot.

"They must have had to relocate me." She mused out loud.

Her head cleared as she viewed wooden pegs bored into the wall. The room's only window had glass missing, and it was completely boarded up. Sunlight peeped through the cracks.

The only other furniture was an old-fashioned table with a pitcher, bowl and a small wash cloth beside it.

She poured water into the bowl and used the cloth to wash her face. Running her fingers through her hair, wishing for a mirror, she twisted it back into a braid.

Unexpected heat climbed up her spine, making her hands tingle. An electrical sensation grizzled along her scalp. Christine closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath through her nose, exhaling through pursed lips. She knew this feeling.

She had noticed earlier that the doorway was a dusty blanket tacked over the frame. Christine turned to watch as a gloved hand pulled the blanket aside. A dark-haired man wearing a full face mask ducked through the doorway. In his hand was a chipped china cup.

Christine dropped her wash cloth. Large blue scarabs by the dozens crawled over the man making a pathway across the walls and over the floors. The clicking of their legs turned thunderous in the small room.

Her breath caught in her chest and squeezed. She had never felt 'the diagnosis' so strongly before, and she hadn't seen his face. She put a hand to her mouth. The root of several duelling illnesses began with his face.

He slowly raised his head and Christine felt her heart race. The scarabs were now knee-deep, waving ebony legs and flashing indigo blue wings. Her nostrils flared as she waited. Deep set, mismatched eyes met hers.

"Hello, Christine. I hope you are well. My name is Erik."

Standing on wobbly legs, Christine stared as a patchwork of images bore into her brain. Unwinding like a snarled piece of string, she saw holographic images moving about her, including a crying child, a small mask, rioting mobs, guns, war, blood, malevolence, starvation, a whip, yearning, heartbreak, hate, and finally dissociation.

She felt herself cry out as the scarabs swept into a vortex, swirling into one giant fluctuating image. A giant hand reached out to stroke the man's head. The white mask generated a green glow.

Teeth bared, the malevolent creature rubbed its head on the mask, wrapping its body seductively around the tall stranger.

Breaking back into the blue scarabs, the entity rushed to Christine knocking her off her feet. She landed backwards on her derriere. A hundred tiny chuckles followed the bugs as they squeezed through miniscule cracks in the walls.

Erik curtly placed the cup on the table, sloshing its' contents. He should have known she would react like everyone else. All humans could focus on was the mask. Tilting his head he waited for her to get up.

She sat sprawled on the floor, scrambling to ensure the dress covered her. His breath hitched for a second. The dress did little to hide shapely legs. His eyes traveled up to her curvy body.

His gaze lingered on her graceful neck, traveling up to her shining, dark hair. Christine Daae's eyes were soft, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. The faintest of laugh lines radiated from the corners.

He didn't read fear in the brown orbs, just indignation. Even so, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her lips were soft and moist. He had to look away; he shivered, yes, he dared not look at her lips.

Should he? Erik had never touched a woman's hand on purpose before. Would she scorn his help? Curiosity got the better of him. Towering over her, he offered her his hand.

Christine's gaze traveled up, past immaculate shoes, up creased black jeans, up past a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, to meet gaze. The illnesses were dormant for the time being, and the man's extended hand-held both a challenge and a plea.

Reaching up she placed her hand in his. She shivered, his grasp was cold. Once she was on her feet, Erik immediately dropped her tiny hand. It had been completely engulfed by his long fingers.

Erik's mouth was dry. Her small digits had nested in his palm; he had felt their delicate flutter, reminiscent of a fledgling bird.

Erik frowned behind his mask. She had trembled at his touch. How was the plan going to work if she feared him?

"Where am I," Christine asked firmly.

"You are safe," he answered. In an elegant gesture he waved, "Drink your tea before it is completely cold."

His voice! She was well-traveled and had never heard anything quite like his smooth tenor, almost as if he sang his conversation. Gathering her thoughts, she answered as if talking to a child, "No, 'Erik'. I want to talk to Carlotta."

"That is not possible at the moment, 'Christine'," Erik rejoined.

"Why are you calling me 'Christine', my name is Tabitha Murphy?" Christine asked, eyeing the doorway.

"That is an alias given to you by the Core." Erik replied smugly.

"Core? I don't know what you are referring to," She answered, as she slowly edged toward the hanging blanket.

Erik jerked the blanket together, darkening the room once more. Foiled, Christine swallowed; his blue and green eyes seemed to have an animalistic golden reflection in the darkness.

"Erik does not play games, Christine Daae. I took you from the diner, out from under the watch of three Core Agents, I may add. For one purpose." The Phantom folded his hands behind his back and paced in front of the blanketed doorway.

In the kitchen placing too crisp bacon on slices of bread, Nadir breathed, "Only one scream so far. Thank you, Allah, for small miracles."


	21. Chapter 20 Peru Bound

CHAPTER TWENTY

Peru Bound?

Far more mature than her actions implied, Connie hissed, "We can't brainstorm; I'm willing to bet they have bugs back here."

Dumfounded, Raoul did a double-take when Meghan whimpered in a fake whine, "I guess they are going to leave us to our own thoughts back here, what are they going to do when they find out we don't really know anything?"

Michael nodded in approval to Meghan, quirking a brow at Raoul. Raoul, barely able to move his facial muscles, nodded in what he hoped was an imperceptible motion.

Hours later found the group shifting in their seats, in dire need of the restrooms.

Arriving at a conclusion Raoul decided he wasn't a young man anymore, and if it came down to protecting the women, Hawke would do a better job in a fair fight.

Dugan was correct, he had monitored Connie for a while, it wouldn't be reasonable to think she had information.

Meghan might be suspect simply because she had admitted she was immediately headed for France, an out of the country hideout an option. Hawke was suspect because he helped Christine escape the reservation.

He had spent eight hours a day for the last few months with Christine, thus a viable confidant. Raoul leaned his head back. The best option would be Leon Two Panther's theory of telling a lie as close to the truth as possible. He could tell that lie.

Meghan kicked frantically out and tapped his knee when the front door opened. Raoul sat up straighter, wishing his vision wasn't blurry. He heard Hawke clear his throat, and he wiggled his fingers in warning, praying Hawke would see and understand.

"Well, well, I expected to have to wear high boots in here." Dugan leaned against the back partition. "Do we have any reasonable answers?"

Before anyone else could speak, Raoul leaned his head toward the man's voice, "The others can't tell you anything, and I can tell you very little. Christine said about a month ago, if she accepted my proposal of marriage, she would like to go back to South America again. We met again in Peru as you are probably aware."

Raoul hoped beyond hope that the others had schooled their features. He couldn't see their reactions. "Maybe she flew to South America, thinking that I will remember that conversation and meet her there."

Dugan narrowed his eyes. "Peru, eh. So the rest of you don't know anything? Pulling a phone from his pocket he clicked a button and a female voice filled the air, 'Leroux Agency is offering One Hundred Thousand Dollars for the safe return of actress Connie Daae."

Shutting the cell off, Dugan replaced it back into his pocket. "My boss considers that amount mere peanuts, Dr. Chaney. What is going to prevent us from doing away with the rest of you?" He pulled a handgun from his vest and pointed it at Meghan.

"More money," Meghan answered quickly.

"Go on, I'm listening." Dugan lowered the weapon.

"Veronica Chapman Cosmetics is a multibillion dollar company, and I have earned them a large chunk of that. I am sure they are waiting for you to approach them. My mother cannot come up with that kind of money."

My father is from a wealthy family in France." Raoul shrugged thinking, 'That should dangle a proverbial twenty four carrots under his nose.'

Dugan held the gun up and swiveled to Hawke. "I bet there's no one that wants you, Indian."

Meghan quickly spoke up, "I will ask the Company to post his reward, they will if I threaten to leave and work for Venus Enterprises."

Hawke shot her a confused look.

Laughing, Dugan replaced his gun. "You are awfully sure of your worth, Miss Giry. Confidence. I like that in a woman."

He looked up as Agent Polen ambled down the aisle swinging a short chain. "Well, we don't have to decide now. Agent Polen is generous enough to volunteer in assisting you good people to the facilities. I warn you, any problems and whoever is left with me will eat my gun."

Before long it was dark outside. Dozing on and off, Hawke felt the plane start to descend. Connie and Meghan continued to sleep, and Raoul lifted his head from the headrest.

The jet came to a smooth stop. Hawke found himself blindfolded and his hands behind his back connected by a chain to Dr. Chaney. The women were bound together the same way.

Stepping down, Hawke's nostrils immediately noticed the salty scent of ocean air. His feet crunched on what was too sharp to be gravel. Broken sea shells? They walked down a couple of concrete stairs. Unnecessarily rough acting guards immediately separated him from the doctor.

* * *

Connie flopped down on the sagging cot. She looked in the next cell to find Meghan standing at the iron-barred door.

"I wonder where we are," Meghan asked.

Connie put her elbows on her knees. "I don't think we were in the air long enough to have reached Japan or the Philippines, otherwise I don't have a clue."


	22. Chapter 21 Consequences

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Consequences

** A/N This chapter will be in two episodes.**

Christine stopped in her tracks as she delicately rubbed her temples. "What did you just say?"

Erik continued to pace, head bent, hands clasped behind his back.

"Don't you stand there and ignore me, I asked, What did you say?" Christine stomped her foot, something she hadn't done since she was a teenager.

Erik stopped and faced her, calmly quirking a brow. "You left the diner in my company."

"I got that part. What I'm having trouble with is the fact I don't remember leaving with you. And, did you just say 'taken away from three agents'? Are you telling me you kidnapped me?" Her voice rose on a high squeak.

Erik took in her thunderous expression and sighed, "That is one word for it."

"One word for it? Well, I have several other words for you. I. Am. Leaving. Now." Christine scooped up her red slippers, chin up, and attempted to walk around the masked hoodlum.

Erik felt his temper started to simmer. Who did she think she was dealing with? "I suggest you desist, Madame." He shot an arm out in front of her. With a graceful step the little dynamo ducked under his grasp.

"Keep your hands off me!" Grasping the toe of her shoe, to Erik's utter shock, she drew back and hit him on his thin chest.

Erik narrowed his eyes and his left hand automatically reached for his lasso.

Realizing she might have gone too far, Christine backed up a couple of steps. "I am warning you, I'll..I'll…whack you again!"

No one hit him and got away with it, at least not for the past fifteen years, anyway. Posture stiff, Erik took a determined step toward the irate woman.

Preparing to announce that breakfast was ready, Nadir pulled back the blanket covering the door. Sailing through the air, a red shoe barely missed his head. Nadir did a double take. Erik was advancing on an angry Ms Daae, who had hopped up on the rickety cot.

"Allah save us all. What is going on in here?" Nadir cautiously dared to inquire of the rapidly escalating Erik. When he didn't receive an answer, he rushed between the cot and the Phantom.

Not skipping a beat, Erik continued to advance, forcing Nadir to retreat. Ultimately the backs of the Daroga's knees slammed into the cot.

Scooting closer to the wall, Christine ensured there was more space between herself and this new arrival. "You watch it too, shorty." Christine gathered her legs under her, hoping to jump off the cot.

Anticipating the escape, Erik reached for the woman's arm accidentally bumping into Nadir. The startled Persian sat down hard. Christine squealed as the cot's legs gave out.

The collapsing cot tossed both herself and Nadir to and fro, unintentional sailors on a sinking boat, they tried to keep from falling as one by one the legs crumbled.

Erik tried to catch the moving Christine. Each time he tried to grasp a flailing arm he was foiled, either by Nadir or the dying cot. The Phantom hissed in frustration as renewed anger washed over him.

A loud pop ensued as the frame broke. Reacting quickly, Christine immediately launched herself over Nadir. Landing on her feet she watched as Erik and Nadir tumbled to the floor; wrapped in blankets and wood. Not waiting around, she bolted out the door and picked up her other shoe, hopping from one foot to the other, placing both of them on her feet, she tore out the front door.

* * *

Arm in a sling, Reyer held an ice bag to the back of his head. He watched as Alan paced the floor. "Do sit down man you are making me dizzy."

Both men jerked startled, as the door snapped open. Summer and Lance peered inside.

"How is she," Summer asked.

"She Carlotta, or she Tabitha," Reyer mumbled.

"We'll start with Carlotta." Lance answered, sitting down.

"She has a broken pelvis. A table full of old women thinking there was safety in numbers landed on her. She is in surgery now."

"The Core has agents out looking for Tabitha, now." Alan informed the newcomers.

"How are you, Reyer?" Summer laid a hand on the older man's good arm.

"I'll be fine. The question is... how are our careers," Reyer said morosely.


	23. Chapter 21 part two Confusion

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE PART TWO

Confusion

Connie woke up, neck and shoulders aching from the handcuffed position they had endured for so many hours. Cocking her head she heard the soft snores of Meg in the next cell.

She noticed that several basic necessities draped a low stool. Man, she must have been out not to have heard anyone enter. Crossing the room to the sink, the curious girl picked up soap and wash cloth then studiously proceeded to wash her grime-smeared face. The warm water felt wonderful.

Connie studied the items for a minute. A nasty thought crossed her mind as she picked up the toothbrush. How hard would it be to make a 'shank' or whatever prisoners called them? Shrugging, she combed her tangled hair, and brushed her teeth. Unable to find a garbage can she placed her cup in the sink.

Reluctant to remove her clothes to sponge off, the wary actress washed her arms and legs that peeped out from under her shortie pajamas. Wiggling her bare feet she gave up, it would take a three-hour soaking to clean the dirt off those piggies thanks to all the vehicle transfers they had endured. She would almost bet they had dismounted the first vehicle in a cow pasture!

Returning to the cot she crossed her legs, 'Indian style', as she surveyed the room. A basic windowless, concrete square with bed, sink and toilet. Would Agent Dugan and cronies provide them with a way to clean up if they were planning to kill them? Or was it a type of last meal?

Speaking of last meal, her stomach literally roared its irritation.

"I heard that," Meg spoke sleepily. Rising from her cot with a groan, she crossed the small area of her cell. "Where did these come from?" She held up a bar of soap and a towel.

Connie shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine. I was out too." She watched Meg clean up and begin to fight with her long, tangled locks.

"Wonder how the men are faring?" Discovering that the beds weren't anchored, Meg pulled her cot up to the bars between the cells.

Thinking it a good idea, Connie followed suit. Speaking softly, Connie wondered, "Do you think Uncle Raoul's vision is better this morning, or afternoon, whatever time it is?"

Meg studied her broken nails, "Supplied with a wash cloth he could put cool compresses on the swelling."

"What about Mr. Hawke? From where I sat it looked like he had blood in his hair."

"They are grown men, honey; they will use what resources available to them."

Connie sighed, "That's what I'm afraid of. Men are such babies."

Sticking her hand through the bars, Meg grasped Connie's hand. "What caused you to become so cynical at such a young age, Duckie?"

Connie snorted. "I've been to boo-coup countries in my life, most men will act brave in public, but once they hit their huts, they grumble that they are fine. They usually act all masculine, then instantaneously become unable to attend their injuries, expecting their women to kiss their boo-boo's. The next morning in front of the village, they are ready to wage war again."

Meghan grinned, "I guess that falls under the heading of 'behind closed doors,' and all that stuff. That's probably the only time in some cultures they can let down the 'Me Tarzan,' persona."

Connie placed a finger to her lips and stood up. Meghan followed her example as her ears picked up footsteps echoing down the hall. Connie tilted her head when a tall, elegant blonde stopped at Meg's door.

The woman stood inside dressed in crisp blue pants complete with a white boat necked blouse. From one shoulder to the opposite hip draped a blue scarf with several insignia. Her feet were clad in what looked like simple blue running shoes.

Two men positioned at attention on either side of the door looked on. One was definately Zane Dugan dressed in similar attire except his shirt had collars.

Smiling, the woman introduced herself, "Hello, my name is Sorelli. You are familiar with Zane, and this is Gage. I am your liaison for your stay here and I apologize for your crude quarters. Follow me."

The guard named Gage, opened Connie's door and she joined Meg. The woman named Sorelli led the group. Connie wasn't fooled, the men acted nonchalant, but she and Meg were under guard nonetheless.

Connie tried to keep track as they walked down several halls and climbed a set of ten stairs. Sorelli's blue eyes traveled over the younger girl's ruined attire. She wrinkled her small nose, and offered, "I hope you can find something to fit in here." Opening the door she stepped back to allow the women access.

Meg gasped, and Connie turned to look at 'Sorelli,' questioningly. The room they had entered was huge. A balcony lined one whole wall where sheer curtains fluttered in a tropical breeze.

The center of the room held two large claw foot tubs and against one wall stood a table laden with fruits and breakfast tarts. The opposite wall held a rack of clothing. Standing at attention two women wearing aprons held thick fluffy towels.

"When you finish, one of these fine ladies will show you where your new quarters are." Sorelli closed the door.

"I hope you know what you are doing." Zane complained.

"And your methods gave us…what results, Captain?" His feminine companion answered.


	24. Chapter 22 A New Use

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

A New Use

Unable to stop her headlong flight, Christine barreled into a hapless Darius. Unable to see the missile in front of him, Darius, plus an armload of kindling tumbled to the ground.

Reluctant to stop. Christine continued, "I'm sorry," she yelled over her shoulder.

Erik found himself at the bottom of the pile with a dazed Daroga, sitting on his lap. "Do you mind Daroga," he snarled. Furious, he unceremoniously, pushed the other man to the floor. Jumping to his feet, kicking a splintered cot leg aside, he stalked across the floor in pursuit of his prisoner. Shaking his head, he growled. He should have used the lasso.

Darius groaned, that last piece of kindling was just out of reach. He contorted his body in an almost pretzel shape to retrieve it. Just a little more...there, he had it! Shifting his bundle, he stretched his neck to see over his burden. Tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth and reaching precariously under the wood, he searched blindly for the door knob.

As if he were a tornado, Erik blasted through the door knocking Darius and his cargo back on the ground. Kindling exploded into the air in all directions.

Darius fired off the first explicatives to ever leave his mouth.

Leaving the path Erik planned to cut Christine off. His longer legs made short work of her head start. He would have closed the gap faster if briars hadn't torn at his clothes repeatedly ensnaring him.

Lungs burning, a stitch in her side, Christine rested. The path forked directly ahead of her. Renewing her escape efforts, she jumped startled when with wings beating the air, a flock of turkeys took flight.

Erik bit back a yelp. Anger pulsed through his blood anew as a tree limb nearly emasculated him. If he didn't need this hellion, he was sorely tempted to do away with a woman for the first time in his career.

Christine skid to a stop barely avoiding a chilly looking creek. Wobbling on the heels of her feet, arms akimbo, she regained her equilibrium. Sighing with relief, she said a quick prayer of thanks.

Turning around, she felt her stomach drop. She couldn't believe her eyes. A streak of black emerged from the woods and was making a bee-line straight toward her!

Christine stood like a deer in the headlights. Darting frantic glances at her surroundings, she sprang into a run. She couldn't go forward, and she couldn't go back. She decided zigzagging in a vertical direction away from the path was her best option.

"Oh no you don't." Erik ground out between clenched teeth. He doubled his speed and reached out to grasp a handful of her dress.

The woman was obviously panic-stricken. Screaming, she threw her arms around him causing him to wobble.

Erik's eyes widened. He didn't have time to brace himself for the inevitable fall.

Tired of staying at the post, Ratcatcher shimmied down the tree. He had seen the woman plow hell-for-high-water down the wrong path. Anticipating a good chase, he frowned when the boss had barreled through the woods.

'Uh,oh too bad for the woman'. He best look like he had given chase, he decided as he ambled down the path.

* * *

Nadir limped, picking pieces of the broken cot up and stacking them beside the cabin. Cutting a bundle of high grasses, he attempted to sweep the partitioned room.

He had no doubt that Erik would catch the Daae woman. His fear was; what Erik would do when he found her.

Nadir's eyes had become scratchy and his buttock was hot to the touch. Pushing away the tepid tea and bacon sandwich, he waited for his friend's return.

Darius sporting a dark expression on his face, strolled by to pick up a bucket. In minutes the young man marched back inside placing a pot on to boil. He stoked the fire then proceeded to roll up his sleeves. He took Nadir's turn washing the utensils used to cook breakfast.

Finished, Darius sat down opposite Nadir. Morosely he ate his drying sandwich and tepid tea.

"Would you look at this!" Looking out a cracked window, Nadir's eyebrows rose at the unusual sight returning up the path.

Soaked from head to foot, Erik held an equally drenched Christine over his shoulder. The woman's head was bobbing to the Phantom's determined strides. Her hands beat about his back and side as she kept up a chorus of 'let me go'.

Once inside, the Phantom unceremoniously dropped her on her bottom, wrenching the blanket back in place. Christine cautiously peeped her head out. Lifting a finger in the shhh position, he then narrowed his eyes.

Noticing that her captor's glare turned steely, Christine popped her head back in.

Deciding retreat was the flavor of the moment, Nadir nodded to Darius. The two men made haste to exit the cabin.

Erik grasped an extra blanket and one of his shirts. Turning his head away, he thrust the items through the blanket. "Dry," he ordered.

Swiftly he dried himself off and donned his last set of clothes. He didn't trust the woman not to peek. Standing where she couldn't see, he lifted his mask to dry his face. Luckily he had a smaller, foldable, black version with him. The only problem with it was it covered very little of his lips. He had to make do with drying the wig as best he could.

Silently relieved that someone had heated the water, Erik once again made tea. Sprawled at the table, he was silently fuming to himself when Nadir returned. The older man carried some wilting plants in hand.

"New herbs, Daroga," he inquired.

Erik frowned. Did Nadir just weave before sitting down?

"I think my cut is infected. I need to boil these plants into a poultice.

"Did you offer Ms. Daae something warm to drink?"

"She refused the offer this morning, if I remember correctly." Erik gritted.

"Here let me try." We can't have her dehydrating on us."

"It is an idea, Daroga."

Shaking his head, muttering about flies, vinegar and sugar, Nadir stiffly rose to his feet. He made another cup of tea and with aplomb he placed a sandwich on a paper plate. Knocking on the wall he inquired, "Would you like some refreshment, Ms. Daae?"

He heard a low embarrassed voice answer, "Yes, but I have to go…well, you know first."

"Ooooh." Nadir looked to Erik, who had placed his head in his hands.

"I'm too old for this sort of thing," the masked man groused. He raised his voice, "Come out here, Madame."

Christine swallowed, holding her head up, she exited the room. Nadir immediately blushed. The Phantom stood stock still, his breath frozen in his lungs. His shirt hit below her knees, and even though she had rolled the sleeves up, they still hung over her wrist.

The woman had plaited her damp hair in one braid. The tip of it hung down her back to swing at her waist. The sun streaming in the window illuminated the outline of her curvy body and she crossed her arms in a semblance of modesty.

Shaking himself, he gave his lasso to Nadir. "Have her place that around her waist."

"Man, you can't mean…."

"Daroga, I will not have her running from me again. This would be a perfect opportunity for her to escape. I will not be looking at her to see if she tries, guaranteed." Erik said grimly.

Now, Christine _and_ Nadir were a bright red. Fearing she was about to dance, Christine took the lasso from Nadir and pulled it over her head to settle it at her waist.

Erik nodded his head for her to proceed him out of the cabin. Stopping about a thousand feet from the building, he pointed to some shrubs. Christine gingerly stepped to what looked like a good sheltered spot.

Erik jerked on the rope. The beleaguered woman turned around and glared at him.

"Not there, poison ivy."

Tears of frustration and embarrassment pricked at her eyes, she hastily wiped them away scooting behind another bush.

The Phantom studiously watched an ant, as he waited for her to reappear. He never would have guessed in a million years, his lasso would be used as a tether to a stubborn, albeit beautiful woman.

He had to admit his shirt never looked so good. Blowing through his thin lips, he realized he might have alienated her irreparably. Erik would have to do his best. Even use his voice on her if necessary. This plan was too important and failing was not an option. He furrowed his forehead, there was still the second part of the plan to consider also.

Reentering the cabin, he allowed her to take off the lasso. She stopped to pat her foot in the middle of the room.

Erik raised an invisible brow. She placed her hands on her hips, unknowingly tightening his shirt across her breasts. "I need to wash my hands." She said in a 'duh' voice. Erik swiped a rag from the counter and poured some water on it with a dollop of soap.

Ratcatcher chose that moment to come in. He leaned against the wall and blatantly ogled Christine. She threw the rag on the counter and crossed her arms. "My dress needs to dry. I can't wear this around a bunch of men."

"Why not, sweetheart?" The Ratcatcher slyly insinuated.

Erik quickly stepped in front of Christine. Ratcatcher smiled, recognizing the threat and backed down.

Darius quietly gathered up Erik's scattered clothing and procured the pretty prisoner's things. Stating that it was his turn to guard, he left the uncomfortable room. After placing the items of clothing on various low bushes, he happily headed for the lookout.


	25. Chapter 23 Friends, Family and Enemies?

Chapter Twenty Three

Friends, Family and Enemies?

Examining his surroundings, Raoul waited impatiently for the others to arrive. After being thrown into a cell, he had seen no one but an aged doctor by the name of Blondelle.

After bathing and donning clean clothes provided by a woman named Sorelli, he dined on a four star breakfast. The room he now occupied held a mahogany executive table and chairs. Three walls were made of window covered in designer blinds.

Raoul heard a scuffle outside. The door opened to allow Hawke entry. The doctor's sore eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Hawke's muscled thighs and calves were literally poured into a pair of buckskin britches. Knee high black boots encased his feet, and the top buttons of his white shirt were open.

Jerking his arm out of the guard's hand, the brave stepped into the room. Examining the older man, Hawke sighed. Of course, Dr. Chaney was dressed in normal clothes.

Raoul hid a grin, "How have you been treated?"

"If you mean, have I ate and been allowed to bathe, then yes, I have been treated well. If you mean, does it feel good morphing into a living Ken doll, then my pride has taken a beating." Hawke grimaced.

"Where are the girls?"

Raoul shrugged, "I haven't seen them. We haven't been treated… badly, I hope they fared the same."

Sorelli chose that moment to come in, followed by Connie and Meghan. A guard closed the door behind them.

Raoul blinked. The women wore exact replicas of Sorelli's uniform sans scarves. Connie took one glance at Hawke and blushed. Meghan noticed Hawkes clothing, then shot a questioning look at Raoul.

Motioning for the girls to sit down, Sorelli stood in front of the door. "I'll make this short and to the point. Dr. Chaney our security took your suggestion into consideration, and we have a squad dispatched to South America to search for Ms. Daae."

"Who are 'our'," questioned Raoul.

Sorelli pursed her lips, placing her arms behind her back. "Before I answer that question, I need to inform you that your various DNA profiles are downstairs in one of our labs as we speak."

"No garbage cans, but toothbrushes and combs were left in our cell," Connie groaned. "I thought it was funny not to have a way to dispose of the cups."

"Acting wastes your intellect, Miss Daae."

"I guess it won't affect things one way or the other if I mention that those samples are there without our collective permission?" Raoul stared into Sorelli's eyes.

Sorelli held his gaze until he gave up and looked away. "I don't think anyone here cares, Dr. Chaney.

The tall blonde continued, "The plane you arrived here on is one of a kind. Untraceable, and unaffected by sudden electrical charges, as well as other natural and manmade phenomena.

"We flew over the Pacific, are you saying we are on Devil's Triangle," Hawke interrupted.

Sorelli ran her hand across his shoulders, to caress his ponytail. "Hmm your DNA profile needs upgrading to _possible_ mental as well as physical capabilities."

Hawke ground his teeth.

"Close but no cigar, Mr. Hawke. Twelve such triangles divide the oceans. You are on the larger side of Easter Island, Minervian Inlet, to be exact."

"I've been to Easter Island for photo shoots, there is no such thing as Minervian Inlet," Meghan argued.

Glancing at the women, Sorelli sighed, "Don't get your hopes up regarding rescue. The Machaon group has been here nearly ninety years avoiding discovery. We aced it through two World Wars and the cold War, complete with constant air patrol from every developed country imaginable.

"We harnessed the ability to stay invisible, and have nearly unlimited resources at our finger tips. If there is something we need we either fly or use one of our prototype boats to procure it.

" Our fingers are in several scientific pots. The labs manufacture fuel from garbage and waste materials. We have no need to involve ourselves in political posturing over oil.

"Agricultural specialists found a way to renew ground soil thus ensuring that we have enough growing acreage to supply the inlet.

"Gold is easy to reproduce, thus enabling us to buy whatever we need. Our very lives are extended and then extended again.

"Your poor little sheep, Dolly wasn't the first clone, by far. We were quite advanced in that technology at the time of her conception. Our population has zero use for the act of reproduction except for pleasure's sake, now."

She turned a chalkboard around drawing a DNA sequence, "But there is a snag. Once someone goes through the cloning process three times the original DNA starts to break down.

"Dr. Chaney, what was the name of the good doctor that was kind enough to see you?"

"Dr. Blondelle."

"You father is a diabetic, isn't he doctor?"

Blood rushed into Raoul's face as he sprang from his seat, hands clenched.

Sorelli held up a hand. "Careful, doctor you don't want another session with Agent Polen's fists."

Raoul slowly sat down, glancing at the others. "Tell me you haven't crossed that line."

Sorelli's laugh resembled a tinkling bell. "Let's let everyone else in on this little history lesson too, doctor. Raoul here, realised that it was Dr. Blondelle who helped develop insulin."

"But insulin has been around forever," Meghan added. "How could the…"

"Ahh, so you see the light. Dr. Blondelle is ready to start his second cloning. We need a healer to ensure that every tiny allele is one-hundred percent healthy."

"So you are grave robbers, too," Hawke spoke.

"Oh, Mr. Hawke you wound me to the quick. Exhumation is a living business here."

"Who else is on this Island," Connie whispered.

"Ah, Ah, Ah, a woman has to have some secrets," Sorelli smiled.

"Let me understand, you want my mother in order to keep cadavers alive? What happens when she passes away?"

"Do you need to ask, little girl," Sorelli yawned. "We are going to ensure that doesn't happen."

"Heal the healer?" Hawke blew through his lips.

Sorelli nodded. "I assume that the four of you are interesting in knowing what we want with you. The obvious reason is to draw Ms. Daae. But you know, it has come to our attention that she has good taste in friends and family.

"Miss Daae, you carry DNA in common with your mother. That's the foremost reason for your detainment.

"Dr. Chaney, you are a well-respected doctor and humanitarian, but what most people don't know about is your IQ of 165.

"Miss Giry, Miss Universe is no small achievement for a savvy business woman.

"Mr. Hawke, your obvious physical attributes, coupled with your small tribal genome is highly desirable." Sorelli reached behind her and knocked on the door.

Zane Dugan stepped in, carrying a laptop. Connie glared then dropped her gaze to her lap. Dugan lifted his lip in a cruel parody of a smile. He stopped and shot a cocky wink at an uncomfortable Meghan.

"Not only does our illustrious Ms Daae have good taste in friends and family, she attracts a special type of enemy." Pulling down a screen he set the laptop up.

A dark picture focused on the screen. "This is Nadir Kahn. He is the right hand man of a double Core-Machaeon agent that goes by the call name of 'Phantom.'


	26. Chapter 24 Lets Make A Deal

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Let's Make a Deal

Christine sat on her makeshift bed with her chin on her knees. She had spent the rest of the day watching watery sunlight inch across floor; throwing writhing shadows under the blanketed door.

Occasionally she heard male voices raised in conversation though no pertinent information could be ascertained.

She straightened the sleeping bag that now covered a corner of the floor, her mind furiously going over then disregarding ways to escape. Her stomach rumbled, the effect of this morning's bacon and tea having long worn off.

After the bathroom fiasco, the masked man had placed the food in her hands shoving her through the partitioned door. She shivered, the sadistic chuckles of the man called 'Ratcatcher' continued to echo in her ears. At least the younger man had returned her dry costume.

Puzzled, she worried her lip; current situation aside, she felt sensations she had never felt before. A companionable feeling akin to having lunch with a sibling, or a favored friend, wrapped tenuous arms around her psyche.

The blanket moved and the mask man entered bearing a candle and a plate. Placing them beside the water pitcher he left, returning with a steaming cup.

She started to rise; there was no benefit in starving herself. The dark man left once again to return carrying two makeshift stools. She pulled one closer to the bed, sitting down with the plate in her lap. She placed the tea on the floor.

Resembling a grasshopper with his knees almost to his ears, the man took the other stool. With an elegant wave he indicated for her to eat the stew on her plate. He intently watched her eat. That intensity made her feel as if she were a monkey in the zoo.

The silence grew painful, and he sighed, jumping up to pace the room. Darting short looks at her he finally asked, "Why did you disguise yourself in the blonde wig the other night?"

Christine slowly chewed a piece of tough meat. "I guess you won't buy it was part of the costume? Erik stood still. "I thought not.

"It seemed like the thing to do. When someone kills one innocent boy and severely injures another while trying to obtain information about yourself, it is prudent to take precautions. Must not have worked, here I am... Why did you kidnap me?"

"Your voice. Where did you learn to sing like that?"

Christine smiled dryly, "You can say I was self-taught."

The Phantom stopped pacing. Leaning against a wall, booted ankles crossed, he watched the candle light flicker across her features.

"You could own the world with your voice," he announced.

"No thanks, I'd settle for being safe _somewhere_ in the world."

"Erik frowned, "I am not jesting, Madame. Your voice is one of a kind."

"I don't think you are funny at all. I was serious. The ability to walk about without a guard is the better option in my opinion. You know, a normal life. Who do you work for?"

Erik curbed his incredulity. How could she speak with such laissez-faire regarding music? She had obviously spent too much time among the heathen.

Deciding she was deliberately trying to irritate him, he continued, "That's neither here nor there. This line of conversation is getting us nowhere at the moment. Let us get down to business.

"I brought you here for two reasons. The first one is a personal one."

Christine closed her eyes; this morning's holographic images hauntingly clear behind her eyelids. Chewing on her lower lip, she asked, "Were you born that way?"

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if you were born that way. I assume that the personal business has something to do with that mask you wear."

Erik stood up to his full six-foot eight height. "Indeed, I was."

Studying the strange man in front of her, Christine finished her tea. "So one of the things you want from me is to heal your face? What happened, a birth defect or birth trauma?"

Erik looked away, "My mother took a Lithium derivative when she was enceinte. In fact she overdosed on it."

"It _is_ a known teratogen in a small number of pregnancies, but I assume it was the amount she took. How many doctors have you seen?"

Erik growled, "How many doctors have I not seen? I have been through four different surgeries, and my body rejected one after the other. The last one left me worse than when I started."

"So is it that simple, I heal your face and you let me go? Am I hearing you correctly?"

Erik began to pace anew. "No, you will need to complete the second half of my request."

Pushing her tongue in her cheek, Christine waited.

"Heal my face first and I will tell you what that entails."

"I haven't seen your face. I don't know if I can heal it." Christine hedged.

"You are the strongest 'healer' in the world, are you not?"

"That doesn't mean I am infallible."

Erik was beginning to become irritated. "I thought healers worked without any thought to themselves."

He watched the woman place her arms across her chest. Oh, no! Here it comes. She was going to be stubborn. "We can go on to the second part of my request immediately if you so desire."

"What incentive do I have, considering by your voice, and threatening attitude; that I really don't have a choice in what comes next? At least let me know what I am to face."

She did have a point, she didn't have a choice in any of this. Except…her voice. It all came back to her voice, and his face.

If his face were normal, he could hide her anywhere in the world. On a personal level Erik could guard Christine Daae's physical welfare better than a squad of Core agents.

He would finally be able to procure a wife to stroll with on Sundays. When he found her, the two of them would enjoy private boxes, watching his discovery, Christine Daae, enthrall the world.

Unconsciously rubbing his hands together, the scenario folded out before him. He, Erik looking like any other man could coach her: placing her on the most renowned stages. Erik felt a frisson of excitement shoot up his spine. France, England, and Italy for a start.

He looked her in the eyes, "If you heal my face, and agree to let me coach your voice, I will deal with the factions dictating my second request."

"That being?"

Erik sighed. "Delivery into Machaon hands."

Christine's breathing became shallow. She was to transfer hands? Better the devil you know..., "Machaon?"

"They are an independent group in the process of absconding with all known healers for their medical engineering project. They are well-known to the Core."

Feeling queasy, Christine sat back down. "You know this, how?"

"I don't have the specifics, Madame. Just an intermittent contact. Do we have a deal?"

Christine huffed, trying to buy time. "Let me get this right. You do not turn me over to these people and all I have to do is sing?."

"Over simplified, but yes."

"What have you done to reassure me of your sincerity?"

"Nothing. Except your continuing safety. You can take it or leave it. I have no way of reassuring you."

"Ok. Deal. Not because of anything you have said, but because of what I feel. I can't have lived a life-time to become totally hopeless now."

Christine shook her head sadly, "If you had just come up to me and asked, I would have tried to heal your face before."

Erik looked skeptical. "You would have done it without compensation? With complete privacy?"

"Yes, that is what a Christian person would do."

"Hmmf, I've seen so-called Christians more inclined to spit in your face than help you."

"Not everyone." Christine walked over to stand before him. Unprepared he stepped back. She tilted her head to look into his eyes; discovering they were deep-set, shining in brilliant gemstone colors of blue and green. "I guess that's why they seem to glow; the colors are brilliant in themselves."

Color washed up to flush Erik's neck, making him want to run his fingers under his collar.

"Let me see."

That brought him out of it. "You don't have to see to heal, I researched that." Erik ground out firmly.

"I will have to place my hands on it."

"Oh no. Nada." Erik stalked away, temper escalating.

"Your choice," Christine shrugged, not realizing she raised a red flag and yelled,'Toro'!

Turning on heel, he grasped one of her hands. He held on to it firmly as she struggled to wrench it back. He pried his mask away from his face with his other hand. The Phantom tugged on her arm, bringing her hand even with the mask.

She had to stand on her toes to maintain the position without hurting the muscles of her arm. Staring in her eyes, he proceeded to gingerly slide her hand between his face and mask.

She stilled. She didn't want to injure him further.

Unprepared, Erik sighed as her soft hand slid against his ruined cheek.

Her eyes widened at the perceptions created by her fingertips.

He wished he dared allowed her access to the other side.

Placing a hand on his chest to brace herself, breathing deeply, she cautiously explored his face.

The tender skin felt like it was on fire causing him to hold his breath. Oh. Worse! His breathing became harsh, loud in the quiet room. He felt winded as if he had battled an equal opponent.

This was the first time that non medical personnel had touched his adult visage with gentleness. He was no longer an experiment to prod and poke. He felt almost…human.

Erik watched through narrowed eyes as Christine closed hers and began to move her mouth. He could smell the same perfume he had noticed while retrieving her from the creek.

Cracking open his lids he noticed the pictures didn't show the smattering of freckles across her small nose. Didn't do justice to her peaches and cream skin either.

Shuddering he noticed the fingers on her other hand had begun to make small circles on his chest.

Once again she wasn't given a choice. He had initiated the contact. Her life depended on his whims.

Trying to feel charitable regarding the whole situation, she began to pray. Slowly the tips of her fingers traced numerous dry, scaly, valleys and ridges. In places the skin was thick as a callous, in others as thin as a baby's wrist.

The man relaxed under her soothing fingers, resembling a great cat. She wouldn't be surprised if he purred.

She squeezed her eyes. Nothing. She prayed harder. Nothing. This had never happened before. Not one feeling of electrical-transference. She really had to see in order to speed up this uncomfortable, awkward process!

Erik had closed his eyes, lost in the sensations created by her hand. The grip on her wrist had softened nearly into a caress. Bravery washed over her. In a millisecond, Christine reached out her free hand and jerked his mask from his face.


	27. Chapter 25 I don't like Spiders

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

I don't like Spiders and Snakes

"What has Reyer found out at the diner?" Carlotta tried to find a comfortable position in Lance's truck.

"Not much to speak of. They knew what they were doing. No finger prints, no traceable markers, relative simple smoke bombs and rewiring of the lights. The most remarkable piece of evidence is the body. You ok?"

"Don't mind me. Comes with being operated on two days ago. Was it identified?"

Alan nodded. "His name is Joseph Bouquet. Record spanning three decades. Petty thief, passing counterfeit bills, impersonating a prison guard, and bad checks, that type of thing. "

Alan shivered, "The coroner said he saw it coming. A few fractions of an inch and he would have been decapitated. It's a wonder his head didn't fall off when he dropped from the ceiling. I bet it would have if there hadn't been a support crisscrossing his chest."

"You are too engrossed in those facts, Alan."

Pulling into an apartment complex, Alan turned off the truck. "Well, this is it. Core has scoped out the neighbors: replacing one with a medic to see to your care. She is in the apartment across the hall. Too bad Reyer can't escape the reporters too."

Assisting Carlotta with her walker, Alan unlocked the door. Carlotta stood still, a vacant look on her face.

Alan ran his hand in front of her eyes, "Thoughts?"

"It will take me a while, but I will be back in training, right?"

Later, Alan couldn't say what made him do it; he reached out and placed his arms around the group's emotional porcupine, placing her head on his shoulder. To his surprise, Carlotta left it there.

Interrupted by his phone, Alan answered, "'Lo, yeah. Just now. Okay, I'll be here."

"Hey old girl, care for a milk shake? Reyer and the stick-tights are on their way."

* * *

Lance Dugan turned to observe the group. "We don't have any reliable pictures of the Phantom. He is master at stealth, possessing an adroit genius far exceeding yours, Dr. Chaney. The creature also excels at multiple skills, including guerilla warfare, making him a force to be reckoned with.

"I don't use the word 'creature' lightly. His face is horribly deformed and his body not far from it. He usually dresses in black and wears a white face mask."

Raoul decided to ask the question on everyone's mind. "And what does this, Phantom, have to do with us?"

"Glad you asked. We believe that Ms Daae is now ensconced in his hands."

Connie's face blanched. Sorelli's body tensed, ready for action, as Raoul and Meghan reached for the girl's hand.

Dugan leaned back in his chair, seemingly enjoying his next piece of information, "Machaeon, believes this man was the sniper that killed your father, Miss Daae."

A tick appeared under Hawke's left eye. "Is there a reason that you are torturing Connie? You want us to hate this man, Dugan?"

"If the idea has not yet crossed your minds, I have something to inform you. Once someone has seen this inlet, they don't leave." Sorelli ignored Meghan's gasp.

"Phantom has been on the Machaeon payroll for ten years without ever placing foot here. If you want to keep each other alive, if one of you spots him...if he tries to make contact it will be your responsibility to report to myself or Dugan."

"We believe he has his own agenda regarding Ms. Daae. Unfortunately, we have lost our mole within the Phantom's entourage. Our agents are hunting for them as we speak. It won't take long for us to infiltrate once again. You see, he is also on the Core payroll. Double agents are a sticky business. Always having to make sure they don't abdicate and all that… rot." Dugan stretched in his seat.

"Since he more than likely will not give up Ms Daae until she fulfills his needs, we have to lure them here. Obviously we have more than one purpose for the Phantom, also. Can you imagine what we could do with the mental capabilities on his DNA?"

"I thought he was dangerous," Hawke asked.

Sorelli smiled. "Now, now Hawke, I realize you aren't a scientist. Once we have a strong sample log of DNA, we don't have to keep its owner alive. We can always clone another with his mental capabilities." Eyes narrowing, she looked each prisoner in the eye. "This is something the four of you might want to keep in consideration. We have completed the first step; we have your DNA."

* * *

"You witch! You little Delilah." Enraged, the Phantom pushed Christine away and she tumbled to the floor. "Why did you do that?" He threw his stool to the wall. Clenching and unclenching his hands he towered over her.

Christine scooted away until she could go no farther. Calmness pervaded her flight or fight response. Nurse foremost and healer second her professionalism rose to the surface. She wasn't afraid of his visage, she was afraid of what he would do.

As the man continued to rant, she found herself examining his face. His skin was without color except for the jagged edges which curled up like yellowed parchment.

Long, purplish ridges of scar tissue crisscrossed his cheekbones. Blue veins pulsed in the hollows underneath and across his temple. The worst of it was he was devoid of a nose, giving him a skull-like appearance. He was also missing both eyebrows.

Erik's glittering eyes were situated far underneath the eyebrow ridge, ringed by dark circles. His anger and thin lips farther twisted his features adding to the horror of his deformity.

She closed her eyes as the holographs once again encircled her, closing in, squeezing her until she felt his pain. Tears eked from the corners of her eyes.

The curtains flew open and Nadir limped in. Erik turned away, placing his hands over his face. Taking one look and glaring at Christine, the Persian picked up the mask, handing it to the angry man.

Erik replaced the mask and stalked out. Nadir continued to glare at Christine. "You of all people should not have reacted like that to his face. Unforgiveable behavior for a healer or nurse.

Christine stood to her feet, her chest heaving. "How was I supposed to react, I thought he was going to strike me!"

"You are crying."

"In response to his inner demons. Oh, you wouldn't understand!"

"You'd be surprised." Nadir placed a hand to his head.

Christine noticed that he was weaving. Reaching out she tried to grasp his arm. Too late he collapsed to the floor with a crash.

Giving no thought that these men were her captors, Christine reacted, "Help, Erik, somebody! Mr. Kahn has fainted."

Darius barreled in. Christine ordered, "You get his top and I'll get his legs, if we are able, we will try to get him up on the table."

She noticed that Erik wasn't in the other room.

"Do you know what could be wrong with him," she asked Darius.

"He stuck a piece of metal in his ahh…bum a few days ago and it is infected, that's all I know."

"Help me roll him to his stomach."

Once the patient was on his belly, to Darius' chagrin Christine grabbed a knife and cut the older man's pants. She made a moue with her mouth. The laceration was indeed terribly infected.

"Boil some water, and get me some rags, I'm sorry I don't know your name."

"Darius."

"Do you know if you have any medical supplies?"

"Just a small first aid kit, Nadir had applied a poultice on the wound several hours ago."

Christine divided the water into two pots, boiling a couple of torn towels in one. Pulling one piece out she poured soap on Nadir's buttock and scrubbed. "Put a sharp knife in with the rags and boil it."

The Persian was running a raging fever. Running a cool rag over his back and face she stopped. The muscles in her arms were jerking in time with her patient's heartbeat. Shaking her head, she fished out the knife. "Hold his legs, Darius."

With a quick movement she opened the wound. Pus immediately poured from the opening. Christine placed her hands along Nadir's spine and closed her eyes. She immediately began to pray.

"Oh. My. Heavenly…" Darius breathed.

The strings of pus had formed legs and began to crawl from Nadir's wound. Face pale, Darius stepped up on a chair. Yellow-green tarantulas were leaving the laceration to crawl down the table to the floor.


	28. Chapter 26 Introspection

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Introspection

Christine opened her eyes and ran her hands down to above Nadir's wound. Taking the soapy rag she grasped the giant spiders as they emerged, squashing them then dropping the carcasses to the floor.

"Stomp on them, Darius. If they find an open wound on you they can enter your body."

She looked up and almost laughed, Darius resembling a mosquito, hopping around delicately doing away with the arachnids.

Before long nothing but clear fluid ran from the wound. Taking a swab, Christine made sure none of the spiders were hiding. Taking a clean wet rag she folded it over the wound.

"I'll clean up; you continue to wash him with cool water." Christine gathered up the spider bodies and threw them into the fire. A cacophony of squeaky screams emerged with the increased snapping of the flames.

She burned the rags and reboiled the knife, slipping it under her blanket-door.

Darius watched, teeth clenched with nerves as the nurse pulled the folded rag away. He almost fainted. Nothing. No spiders, no pus, no laceration, no heat and no scar.

Christine felt Nadir's back. Sighing she nodded her head. The fever was gone. "He should wake up any moment now."

Nadir groaned, he was always stiff when he slept on his stomach. Opening an eye he stared straight into Darius' anxious face. "Arggg! What a sight to wake up to. Why are you practically on top of me?"

That's when he noticed empty air surrounding him. Looking down he realized he was lying on the table. He flipped over and sat up. Hey wait; it had been a couple of days since he could properly sit on his keister.

Darius plopped down on a chair, hands clasped between his knees, and stared off in an almost catatonic state. Nadir knew then what had happened.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Christine Daae walked over, arms crossed and began to tap her foot. She reached over and handed him a cool glass of water.

Nadir jerked his head toward Darius who was listening intently, "Darius would you…"

"I know, I know. Get more wood and water." Darius practically stomped out the door.

"May I get off the table?"

"I guess."

Sitting on the vacated chair, Nadir ran a hand over his face. "How long have you known?"

"I must have a very thick-head; I had hints but didn't put two and two together until your body was in sync with my healing touch, then I knew."

"You are actually very lucky, you know. You see fast results. My specialty lies in plant medicines. I can tell you the medicinal use for any plant, but I can't make them work any faster."

"Does _he _know?"

"No. There isn't a plant in this world that can help him. Why get his hopes up? I've been with him so long; he would probably kill me for not trying years ago. I was hoping you would do me the favor of releasing him from that burden he carries."

"Father told me there was a healer roaming Europe evading capture since before I was born. You are he?"

"Yes. I have never fancied the thought of having a keeper." He looked at her raised eyebrow, and shamefacedly smiled, "At least he moves quite a bit."

"How did you meet him?"

Nadir got up and placed the tea-pot on to boil. "About twenty-five years ago I lived in Orin. Needing a job, I rose through the ranks and became chief of police, a 'Daroga'. The extra sensitivity we healers are born with helped me in this endeavor.

"The king favored my work and I became quite comfortably well off. I married a young niece of the king, named Rookheeya. After several tries she presented me with a son, Reza.

"It was during this time that petty crimes started to escalate on the street. I found Erik beaten and left for dead. He was pitiful, only fifteen years old, his face deformed and his body heavily scarred. Not wanting to see his hands cut off for being a thief, I took him home.

"He had found an old cloth sack and was using it as a mask. Rookheeya surprised him by making one out of soft, white leather. He was her servant from that moment on.

"We made the decision then not to tell him about my healing ability such as it is. You could say he became like an older son.

"He wasn't hard to hide, life had taught him how to blend in with his surroundings and stay silent. He was so street savvy; I forged an identity for him and used his knowledge to apprehend criminals.

His rise through the ranks was astronomical. So much so that Erik became a favorite of the King. His Highness would brag abut Erik ignoring his son's capabilities.

"Erik and Reza had a special affinity. Together at night Erik would read anything he could get his hands on and my son followed right after.

A nun at the orphanage from which he had run away had taught him to play the piano. We couldn't keep him in instruments, it would take him mere days to learn to play, then off to another one.

"The Middle East is a boiling pot of anger and prejudice. We lived happily for five years that way. Then the emperor of Kashmun attacked Orin and war ensued. It was traitorous times. Everyone was suspect.

"The King's son found out that Erik was living with us. In the middle of trying to depose his father, he accused us of being traitors. Erik and I were out trying to keep the insurgents from breaking through the street barriers. Quanna and his men raided my house, killing Rookheeya and Reza.

"We found her lying on top of him; she had tried to protect him in vain.

"Erik's pain was great. He blamed himself, thinking if he hadn't been such a perfectionist... Refusing to stay in Orin, he told me he was leaving. I had nothing to stay for and the rest…," Nadir shrugged and poured her a cup of tea.

"Has he always been mentally unstable?"

"Not so much at first. Once the Core then Machaeon found out about his abilities, he became an agent. Before this time, Erik's heart could have encompassed the world.

"As the years went by, exposure to chemical warfare took a toll. As a political prisoner he was nearly tortured to death before I could rescue him. He retreated inwardly and never completely came back from that.

"A female agent who had gained his confidence, and I will say probable first love interest, had betrayed him." Nadir saw Christine frown and he assured her, "It was all one-sided, a perfect cat and mouse play by the woman.

"The worst things to happen were the failed operations. He seemed to lose a bit more of his humanity with each failed attempt. In those early days it wasn't anything for him to talk about a possible wife and family. He dropped it for years, but now it seems to prey on his mind once again.

"Thus my kidnapping. It will be easier to find someone to love with a normal face."

Christine sighed and rinsed her cup out. "I really thought if I could see under the mask, I could heal it easier." I guess I have an apology to deliver. Why didn't it work Mr. Kahn?"

Nadir scanned her open features. "You are in an unenviable position. Deep down do you want to help your kidnapper? You truly have to examine your motives. Will you be doing this for Erik out of kindness, or in order to be released from his captivity? Have you ever been presented with someone you despised to heal?

"Is this the first time this has happened?"

Christine looked down to the floor. "I'm not sure. I didn't see my father's fatal heart attack coming. I helped you, technically you kidnapped me too. I don't understand."

Darius chose that moment to come in with a load of wood. Hearing the last bit of conversation he spoke almost to himself, "If someone kidnapped me, I sure wouldn't want to heal them."

Nadir clapped Darius on the back. "You're a genius, and don't let Erik make you think otherwise."

Turning back to Christine, Nadir rested his chin in his hand. "It's unanimous. Being human, deep down, you plain don't want to heal him."


	29. Chapter 27 To Catch A Rat

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

To Catch a Rat

**A/n This chapter is rated M for suggestive speech.**

Christine's face crumpled. "I didn't want to heal my father?"

Nadir waved his hands as if trying to physically ward off tears. "I don't know what happened with your father, I referred to Erik.

"We will have to discuss what happened to your father in-depth for me to give an opinion."

Christine drew in a shaky breath. Realizing she couldn't give Nadir away in front of Darius, she gathered her thoughts. "I have never had to think about the desire to heal. I have always wanted to help; this idea is completely foreign to me.

"When I tried to pray nothing happened. Usually I can feel the charges swirling in me, I felt nothing. That's why I took his mask off, even though I already knew what he looked like.

"You knew what," Nadir gasped.

"I can see the injury in my mind before physically seeing it with my eyes. With Erik I saw his face and his soul. It is like walking around with a fuzzy portable x-ray machine all the time."

"Are you going to continue to try to escape, Ms Daae?"

Darius was sitting on the floor, twirling a twig. "Neither myself or Nadir will harm you, and the boss would be stupid to do anything.

"As hard on me as he is, I still would like for the boss to have his face healed. I know he has his reasons but it must be awful to go around with such a chip on his shoulder."

There was a pregnant pause, and Darius muttered, "We just have to worry about Ratcatcher."

Nadir silenced the young man with a look, "Ratcatcher wants to keep his cahoonas, he won't try anything."

Erik still had not returned by night fall. Scarfing down his grilled cheese, Ratcatcher watched the shadows move under the woman's door. He didn't know what happened while he was on watch, but that old fart, Nadir wasn't favoring his hip anymore. In fact the two Middle Eastern men and the dame had become tight as thieves.

A sly grin crossed Ratcatcher's crooked mouth. The boss had gone and got his feelings all hurt. Darius could take tonight's watch. He had better fish to fry.

"You, boy. Tonight is your turn for guard duty."

Darius frowned, he had just returned from his shift. He looked at the burly, unkempt man and swallowed. He didn't like the added gleam to the other man's pig-shaped eyes. "I don't think so. I'm guarding the lady until the boss returns."

"The boss ran off like a crying little girl." Ratcatcher leaned back to pick his yellowing teeth.

Christine hearing the conversation, shakily procured the knife she had hidden under the sleeping bag.

Nadir came in with a water bucket. Placing it on the stove, he turned to eye the upstart. Ratcatcher was an old army cohort, the man had an evil streak a mile wide.

When the jungles surrounding Sudderstown were clear from a guerilla take down, Ratcatcher followed them out. That had been two years ago; the man was well aware of what Erik was capable of.

He was obviously thinking with the wrong head. Something he was sure the Phantom hadn't thought of. One lone woman and four men could turn into a dangerous combination, considering they were far away from any kind of town.

He watched Ratcatcher's posturing. Darius was about to bite off more than he could chew.

Slipping a packet of dried herbs in a steaming cup along with the normal tea bag, Nadir proceeded to hand it to Ratcatcher. Not to draw attention he placed another cup in Darius' clammy hands and picked up another to sip from. "Take that to Ms Daae, I'm sure she is thirsty."

For once Darius obeyed without comment. Ratcatcher snorted, knocking back the tea. "You won't move me on this old man."

"We don't have to decide anything yet, the sun hasn't cleared the horizon. I am sure the Phantom intends to arrive soon.

Another snort rent the air. "He has become a wuss. One woman takes off that mask and he becomes all 'touchy-feely'."

"She is lucky. If you had done it we'd be burying you right now."

"Hmmph. All I want to do is give her a little luv'ing. It's not like the boss wants her for that. I agree with ole Bouquet's idea, the boss is more than a little funny." Ratcatcher rocked his hand in the air.

"By the way, what happened to Bouquet? He never came back with the two of you from town."

"He did something as stupid as you laying a hand on the woman would be."

Ratcatcher laughed, and then yawned. "Guess you're right we don' 'ave to do n'thing now." The grimy man stood up and proceeded to fall into his bedding. "I've got all night wif the lady."

Darius quietly stepped into the room. "Can I kill him?"

Nadir Kahn rolled his eyes. What was it about Ms Daae that brought out killer instincts in a youngster?" "I gave him enough to sleep way past sunrise. Erik will be back before then."

"I hope so." Darius determinedly pulled his sleeping bag across the men's side of the blanketed door."

* * *

"I took something for pain a few minutes ago, say that again?" Carlotta pulled at her ear.

"I put in vacation time for the four of us." Reyer spoke slowly.

"That's what I thought you said. Why?"

Summer swung her foot on the chair she was lounging on. "I think it is a viable idea, Carlotta. It will keep you in the loop."

"Do you realize that we would be making a major infraction? We won't have anyone to cover our collective backs."

"There are too many loose cannons out there too. Word came in from special services that Bouquet was a Machaeon plant. We have to untwist this knot we are skipping over."

"Machaeon. Code word for boogie-man." Alan pinched the skin between his brows. "Just how much knowledge do the four of us have on them?"

"Could be a lot," Summer said in a sing-song voice as she pulled out a heavy-duty netbook from her bag.

"Come to Papa." Alan grasped the machine and immediately plugged it in.

A voice, sounding as if he were briefing a crew, defined Machaeon.

"How did you get that, Tabitha?" Carlotta scrutinized the blushing girl's face.

"She promised Agent Robinson that he would be the first person she would date if she broke up with me, that's how," Lance grumbled.

* * *

"The four of you are pretty stressed right now. Guards will take you to your quarters and stand outside your doors. Introduction to your jobs is on the schedule for tomorrow. Everyone pulls their weight here." Sorelli opened the door allowing four guards to march in.

"We will separate you at night and you will work in pairs during the day."


	30. Chapter Twenty Eight Apologies

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Apology

The wail of sirens echoed several streets over, mingling with the shouts from innumerable cruising cars. Most were directed at the prostitutes manning each corner. To Shade's chagrin the alley way continued to stay clear.

His nostrils flared at the smell of popcorn wafting from the apartment complex behind him. He doubted the flimsy contact intended to show. The joke was definitely on him.

Deciding to give them a few more minutes, he idly watched an older couple walk their dog down the street.

He blinked, shaking his head. The man walked on as the woman turned down the alley. Shade stayed in the shadows waiting for her to pass through.

She stopped barely five feet past his cover to pet the dog. Cooing, she allowed the furry animal to excitedly lick her face. He groaned to himself. What a time for puppy lovings.

Without warning the leash slipped from her hand. Shade's eyes widened, the dog immediately trotted in his direction. He bent down to pet the wiggling canine hoping to keep it quiet.

He was glad Ratcatcher wasn't with him, the older man would have picked the small canine up and snapped its neck.

The dog gently but firmly placed Shade's gloved hand between his teeth and tugged. Looking from the shadows, Shade noticed the owner still rested on her heels perusing the alley. Taking the leash he walked the animal back to the woman.

"Oh thank you, sir." She once again began to coo to the dog. He was compromised now, what would it hurt? Ever the animal lover, Shade squat down to pet the animal's head. He lifted his eyes to the calm, older woman's upturned face. It sounded like the coos were saying 'under collar'!

Continuing to pet the wiggling powder puff, Shade ran the fingers of his other hand under the collar. Palming a piece of paper, he stood up.

"He sure is cute lady, but he ain't big enough for protection. Let me see you to your destination."

* * *

Erik's narrowed his eyes, there wasn't anyone on lookout? He picked up his pace and slammed open the door, startling Nadir.

He found himself looking down the barrel of the Daroga's Glock. Nadir lowered the gun removing his finger from the trigger. Sighing, he plopped back down on the chair.

Darius had jumped up from his bedroll holding a rifle across his chest.

Ratcatcher's snores reverberated in the quiet room.

"Darius, take the lookout. I had better not find a guard post unmanned again or all three of you will not live to regret it.

Erik waited for the reluctant teen to step aside to slip behind the blanket. His sixth sense irradiated through his body, Erik immediately sidestepped. Crouching in the middle of the room with lasso in hand, all his senses were alert as he scanned the corners.

The shadows from the candles flickered. Flattened beside the door, Christine Daae dropped the knife she was holding.

"Do you know how to use that weapon, Madame?" Erik strode over to tower above the frightened woman.

Kicking the knife aside, he snarled, "Did a little thing like you intend to send Erik back to his maker?"

Christine looked up at the mask fighting back tears, "I…I thought you were him." She stepped over to the candle light that pooled in the middle of the room, arms crossed around her chest.

Keeping her in sight, the Phantom turned on heel. "Just whom are you referring to?"

"One of _your_ cohorts, that pig, 'Ratcatcher.' I absolutely refuse to stay another night here. If it means killing me, then do it." She straightened proudly, chin in the air.

Christine grit her teeth, waiting for the masked man to respond. She felt like an over wound clock. The past couple of weeks had been nothing but pure hell. To top it off she was held hostage by a madman and constantly worried about where her daughter and friends were.

She leaned into the shadowed wall, her shoulders shaking.

Erik kept still, thinking fast. What was he to do? That was all he needed, a hysterical female on his hands. Reining in his anger, he strode over to the crying woman. His stomach clenched. Reaching out a trembling hand he brushed the air over her curls. His husky whisper floated through the room.

With a sigh he whispered,"Don't cry, Ange. Erik is sorry for the way he went about this. Ratcatcher will not touch you."

Christine wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and turned around. "Which part are you sorry about? Kidnapping me, throwing me to the floor, dunking me in the creek, walking me on a leash or leaving me barely guarded?"

Erik drew out a handkerchief from his black jacket. He tilted his head as she wiped her face. "Does he have a choice?"

A short laugh burst forth. Christine looked at the handkerchief in her hand, and then asked, "You want this back?" Shoulders hunched, she was embarrassed over her dramatic outburst.

Erik tilted his head, "Christine may keep it in case she has anymore tears."

Christine folded the handkerchief until it couldn't be folded anymore, "I owe you an apology."

Placing a hand to his chest, he emitted a shocked, "You want to apologize to _me?"_

Christine nodded. "I shouldn't have taken your mask off without permission. I just thought the healing would begin to work if I could see your face."

"I accept your apology." Erik gestured to the seat he had brought in earlier.

Eyes cast down Christine seated herself. "I'm willing to try again if you want."

Talking to himself with wonder in his voice, he muttered, "Nadir's wife, Rookheeya was the only woman ever to make Erik, er… me, an apology.

"If you are willing, I would like to try again," Erik watched her from the corner of his eye.

Christine looked up, "I want you to know, I will try my best. Our failure was a first for me. If it works, then what? Are we going to leave this cabin? What if it doesn't work again?"

Christine watched the smooth square jaw pull the thin lips into a smile.

"One could not very well practice singing here. We won't contemplate failure." Erik's smile widened as she tried to curb hers.

"Here would be perfect if one were a songbird. Why did you call me Angel?"

The top of Erik's right ear tuned red, "Habit, I guess. I had looked for you for a couple of months. Once my casino was under construction I overheard my native workers talking about an Angel that worked at the doctor's office. Rumor had it that she worked miracles for the patients.

"I listened and began to check out their claims." Erik walked over and fingered the door-blanket. "Nadir and I waited by the curve on Blakemore Road most nights when you arrived home."

Christine swallowed, uncomfortable with this new information.

"It wasn't hard to procure copies of the clinic's old records, which verified the rumors, by-the-way. So in my mind I started calling you Angel also. When I saw you, it solidified my suspicions. Only an Angel could have your looks."

Christine tried to ignore the blush creeping over her features. Running her tongue over her lips, deep in thought, she gathered her courage to ask, "What happened with Jackson Man Bear and Brian Deer Stalker?"

Erik made a slash in the air with his gloved hand. "I made the mistake of sending a raw recruit with Ratcatcher to question the boys. They evidently did not want to give up any information regarding you and fought back. Things got out of hand, and Darius could not contain Ratcatcher's blood lust."

A chill raced up Erik's spine. Christine didn't need to know about the undertaker. For some innate reason he didn't want her to know about his murders. He would like to keep that piece of information between himself and his men.

Christine shivered, "That man frightens me".

She was in the proverbial, 'between a rock and a hard place'. It seemed she had to put some trust in this 'Erik', if for no other reason but a way to leave the woods for civilization. What would her father have done?

"If I do this, could you…would you…," she stammered. "Erm, Listen to me, I sound like Dr. Seuss. Before we do anything else, may I contact the agents that were my guards, and ask them to help me find my daughter and friends?"

"Erik cannot risk Core agents tracing where we are. When did your daughter and friends disappear?"

"About two nights after I left the Reservation."

"He…I...have many contacts in several organizations that can put out feelers for them. I must think on it. Are you ready to try again Christine Daae?"


	31. Chapter 29 Failure

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Failure

"Any news from Alan yet?" Carlotta looked up from her exercise mat.

"No, but Lance is ready at the first check point. Agent Thompson is riding with them."

"Berkley raised so much Cain about flying a plane other than 'Shiny Penny'; I thought he was going to have a stroke."

Summer smiled at the other agent, "Where did professionalism go? We act like a bunch of divas."

"How did Reyer get the information on Agent Thompson?"

"From what I understand he is well-known to Core. The man has a vast working knowledge regarding Machaeon and has worked with our guys before.

"Thompson himself isn't a double agent, but he has access to contacts that can wiggle their way around Machaeon inner circles."

"Thirty." Carlotta groaned lying back on the exercise mat.

"Come on give me your hand, we need to leave in a half-hour to meet this Agent Thompson. You need to have a bath."

"With friends like you, who needs enemies?" Carlotta grumbled, affronted.

* * *

"Isn't this a little out in the open?" Carlotta sipped her coffee watching the patrons interact. Eyeing the walls she observed, "It looks like they hired a survivalist to decorate in here: if there is one set of antlers, there are at least a hundred."

Summer shrugged, "The men chose the restraunt."

"Figures."

An inebriated farmer accidentally kicked the metal walker folded by Carlotta's side. She flushed red, grumbling, "We stick out 'like a sore thumb' with me on this contraption."

Summer sipped her Shirley Temple, "You know that's the reason, hide in plain sight, right? Hauling that thing around with you has gotten on your nerves."

Carlotta darted her eyes toward the door. "Don't look now, but here they are."

Summer looked in the mirror over the bar. Lance entered the door followed by Reyer. She watched the newcomer enter. No swagger or unusual gait. Average height. Not too thin, nor obese. The perfect nondescript.

Lance sat beside Summer and ordered a drink. Without glancing at the others, Reyer walked over to an empty table by the window. Agent Thompson pulled up a stool by Carlotta.

Carlotta deliberately dropped her fork; the new arrival didn't hesitate to retrieve it.

She raised an eyebrow in confusion. The handsome black man sitting beside her wasn't a perfect nondescript like she and Summer had hoped. He did have one startling feature, blue eyes. Nothing contacts couldn't hide, but unusual just the same.

"Thanks, sorry I didn't catch your name young man."

Flashing a toothy smile he pulled the hoodie from his head revealing neat dreadlocks. "My name is Thompson, but you can call me Shade."

* * *

Erik waited for Christine to answer. He watched as she stood up, straightening the wrinkles from the Dorothy costume.

"You sit down this time."

Erik sat on the low stool, elegantly folding his legs.

"Let's not have a repeat of the last debacle. Would you please remove your mask?"

Erik sighed heavily. Raising his hands he slowly lifted the mask. Closing his eyes he waited for the gasp and accompanying stumble.

His eyes flew open when soft hands cupped each cheek. Ms Daae's face was just inches from his own. He could feel the minute puffs of her breath tickling his skin. Tongue to the side of her pink mouth, her eyes narrowed. His body involuntarily jerked as her fingers began to gently explore his visage.

Erik started to tremble from his core. Perspiration gathered on his upper lip, and he was so queasy that he felt like he was going to vomit. It took all his willpower not to brush her hands aside.

Christine Daae's eyes barely resembled the old photographs. Instead of still life, they were a living, swirling, mixture of brown and green.

She had pulled her long hair back into a ponytail with tiny curls escaping to frame her oval face. He silently cursed his sense of smell. The faint aroma of her shampoo met his non existant nostrils. Meeting her eyes briefly, he looked away.

Christine smoothed her thumbs over the rough edges. Closing her eyes she whispered, "I ask this in the names of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, please revert this damage back to the way you originally intended for this man before conception…"

Erik's ears began to ring and he couldn't hear what the rest of her words were. He gasped as his heart began to pound erratically. It felt like he had a seventy-pound weight on his chest. His head ached, squashed in an invisible vice, the worst type of migraine imaginable.

With inhuman strength, he held onto consciousness as mismatched eyes burned beneath their lids. Time ceased. He couldn't break the hold of life images swirling through his soul, a boy hiding from bullies, kindly nuns, insurgents, Rookheeya, Reza, hundreds of nameless faces, an undertaker and a young red-headed soldier.

Christine felt the cold face between her hands heat up. The familiar indigo scarabs encircled her, taunting and laughing in elfin voices. She continued to pray, but never felt an expected sense of accomplishment. Instead, a sense of inner peace washed over her.

She opened her eyes. The deep-set orbs before her stayed closed. Her stomach dropped. Nothing had changed, except the curling scar tissue left over from the rejected surgeries. Those paper-thin strips of skin were gone.

His nose was still missing and she could see the blood flowing through translucent veins. He was still as thin as an almost seven-foot tall skeleton. She tried to pray again, but to no avail. The ancient beetles scurried past her, rubbing her ankles like a blue cat."Nothing," they chanted, "It was too late."

Erik forced his eyelids open. Ms. Daae was still there, a hand placed to her mouth; her brown eyes troubled.

Slowly he lifted his hand; it was same bony appendage as before. He rubbed the side of his face. The curled tissue was gone! He rubbed harder feeling the pulsing blood vessels.

His heart nearly stopped. Slowly his hand moved toward the center of his face. Afraid of what he would find, he gingerly passed over the familiar opening in the skull.

Christine would never forget the torment in his eyes. In that moment they held all the sadness of the world.

* * *

"Pull the cart closer, Hawke." Connie straightened her back.

"Hey you, get back to work." A man on horseback rode gingerly between the sprouting plants.

"I see how the slaves felt," Hawke grumbled. He watched the girl working at his side throw a clump of weeds into the high-wheeled cart. "Pace yourself, we don't know how long we will be out here."

Looking at their khaki overalls, Connie sighed, "What are we going to do?"

"First thing for sure is... we get their trust." Hawke looked over at the crestfallen girl. "At least we are together."

A small smile lit her eyes. "Yeah, I could be working with Genghis Kahn, or some other weakling."

"Instead they paired you with another Alexander the Great," Hawke flexed his arm muscle."

"You had better quit before they hit you with a taser again," Connie admonished.

* * *

"Have you seen Connie, or Hawke," Meghan whispered.

Raoul shook his head as he placed another batch of samples in the spinner. "Sorelli said we would work in pairs. At least we can surmise that they are together.

"I've been watching, how many workers are in this lab do you think?"

"About fifteen. They all act like they are a Stepford Wife, though."

"They are probably clones. I wonder, does cloning work only on physical attributes and leave personality to environmental shaping?"

"Hmm, have you noticed that everyone seems to need a break at the same time, Doc?"

"No, but I'll look out for it. When you come across scrap paper big enough to make notes on, will you squirrel it away under the keyboard for me?"

Meghan shot her famous smile. "I do believe something is cooking in that brain of yours, Doctor Chaney."


	32. Chapter 30 Trade

CHAPTER THIRTY

Nadir wished he was a fly on the wall. The conversation in the adjoining room didn't waver from an even, low tone.

Enjoying the freeing sensation of his healed dukus, Nadir bent over to straighten his bedroll. And if he was honest with himself, shake out any escaped pus-tarantulas.

Darius' face was quite green when he explained what had crawled out of his wound.

"So the boy obeyed my orders." Ratcatcher was standing, stretching by his sleeping spot. "He may have some brains after all.

"Now old man, why don't you go see how he is doing and come back… let's say, in about an hour?"

The hair stood up on the back of Nadir's neck. The tea had just put off the inevitable. Like a greenhorn, he had left his gun on the table.

"You know I can't do that. Orders are: the prisoner can't be left unguarded."

A hissing, gurgling laugh exploded from Ratcatcher, "I'll be right on top of it, old man."

I'm sure you will, Nadir thought, "I have to insist." The Daroga began to edge toward the table.

"Step any closer to that Glock, and you're a dead man," Ratcatcher held up a knife and snapped open the blade.

Nadir tensed. Now was not the time to just hope he retained the Phantom's karate lessons. Loosening his muscles he watched the oncoming opponent. Lust had become the other man's driving force.

Ratcatcher confidently swung the knife in an upward arch, Nadir leaped to the side, swinging his leg; he kicked the wrist holding the knife.

The weapon hit the floor clattering, spinning under the hot wood stove. With a roar, Ratcatcher charged the older man who neatly sidestepped. Slamming into the wall, Ratcatcher twisted to reach for the Glock.

Nadir dove to the table. Ratcatcher reacted with a punch to the jaw, the Persian, spitting blood continued to grapple for the gun. Large, meaty hands wrapped themselves around his neck, thumbs pressing his trachea.

Just a few inches more… and he would have it…in astonishment he felt himself fall face first on the table. The grip on his neck loosened! Twisting, he grasped the gun and aimed.

Ratcatcher's knees crumpled and he slid to the floor. Lowering the gun, gasping for breath, Nadir wheezed, "Thanks, Erik."

"Don't thank me, Daroga. Thank Ms. Daae." Erik's voice was dry.

"Ms. Daae?"

"I have a little ditty that I use, the bad part is… I can only perform it when my opponent's back is turned."

"You dropped Ratcatcher?"

Erik kicked one of Ratcatcher's feet. "Looks like she did a good job too." Removing a length of rope from his pocket, Erik reached for Ratcatcher's hands.

"We can't stay here any longer, Nadir go get Darius and pack up."

"Wait!" Christine examined Nadir's jaw. Sliding her finger over the darkening bruise, she closed her eyes. In mere minutes she reopened them.

Nadir rubbed a hand over his jaw, avoiding Erik's gaze, he nodded to Christine in thanks.

"He isn't limping. You helped his hip while I was gone." Erik spoke evenly as he gathered up food items stuffing them in his rucksack.

"Yes. Listen, I don't understand."

"We will discuss this later. I want to be far away when Ratcatcher wakes."

* * *

"They contacted me by my personal email; I never go by the name, Shade, except to a select few. I don't know anyone outside our cell that had access to it. Since the message said it was Core orders, I preferred to check it out with Core staff.

"I easily picked up Alan's inquiries with our equipment. It was a no brainer that he was a field Agent for Core, it was easy to trace you here. When Reyer sent out the outdated code asking about Machaeon, I knew I was your man.

"My boss is the expert. I've always handled any contact with Machaeon under his direction. He is undercover right now and I can't blow it for him." Shade hungrily downed the Chinese takeout.

Reyer placed a piece of paper on the coffee table. "We aren't a 'fly by night' knock off from the Core. Here is a copy of that email you received. This is to ensure to you that we have Core capabilities available to us. Our hackers will eventually break any code."

Summer sat by the young man. "I won't insult you and ask who your boss is, but he still has Machaeon connections?"

"Yes."

Reyer felt like he was pulling teeth trying to pry information from Shade. Leaning over he looked each of his partners in the eye. "You can use this for good or for bad, it is up to you my man. As of this moment, we are indeed acting without Core orders.

"We feel our target has not been represented fairly by our company. The four of us have decided to work as…for lack of better words, rogues, while off the clock. Make no mistake, we are still loyal to Core and will provide a full report at the end."

Shade stopped eating, wiping his hands on a napkin, "Agent Reyer, how dangerous do you suspect this Machaeon group is to the general population?"

"They can annihilate the city of New York within twenty-four hours."

"And what makes you think I can be of any help?"

"_They_ contacted you."

"So you are telling me that you think Machaeon is behind this cryptic email?"

Shade decided to play his last ace, "The email isn't my only concern." He reached into his waist belt and retrieved another paper. "I received this message from a strange contact.

"I've come to my own conclusion, but I want your input. What does the name Dugan mean to you?"

Reyer held his hand out for the paper. Looking it over he spoke softly, "What is your conclusion?"

"Reported missing in Vermont. Double agent?"

Summer voiced their collective groans, "Dugan. That explains a lot"

"Who is this target, Christine Daae, you are trying to help?"

Reyer sat back and stared into Shade's questioning eyes. "The strongest healer known to humanity in this day and time."

* * *

Connie could barely move out of the tub. Even her aches had aches. Blistered hands shook as she dried off.

The outer door opened and closed. "Connie?"

"In here."

Meghan gasped. Connie's face and arms were badly sunburned. The younger girl flopped back on the bed.

There were two trays in the room, neither had been touched.

Meghan entered the bath and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. All she could find was a bottle of Aloe Vera. Sitting down on the bed, Meg rubbed the lotion onto the younger girl's face and shoulders.

Taking the bottle, Connie finished her arms.

Grasping a water bottle from one of the trays, Meg thrust it into the other woman's hand. "Drink, I don't trust that you aren't dehydrated.

"Are you hurt anywhere else? What in Sam-hill did they have you doing?"

"I used to love to garden," Connie groaned.

"What was Hawke, doing?"

"Pulling a wagon and weeding too. He smarted off to the foreman at first and the jerk tased him. He has deep burns on his back."

"What did you and Uncle Raoul do?"

"We were given some kind of lab to work in. Listen Honey, Uncle Raoul wants you to keep your ears open for gossip from the workers or your overseers. Anything you find out coupled with what information we can glean just might be the thing."

"I'll try. It may take a while for my brain to catch up with my sore muscles."

* * *

"What did you say they used on you?" Raoul examined the burns on Hawke's back.

"A taser. They threatened to use it on Connie, next if I said anything else."

Applying aloe vera to Hawke's wounds, Raoul stopped to write a list of medicines he would need.

A knock sounded on the door. Raoul's mouth hung open. A tall Native American walked through the doorway. The door closed behind him and the buckskin clad man placed a finger to his lips.

"My name is Sequoyah."


	33. Chapter 31 Loyal Homeboy

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Loyal Homeboys

"This isn't five-star quarters, but it will be a good place to hide for now, "Erik motioned to a small vine-covered entrance on the stream's northern bank.

"When did you locate these caverns?" Entering first, Nadir's flashlight beam bounced off the stalactites and stalagmites lining the subterranean room.

Christine walked over to their pile of supplies and sat down, wrapping herself in a woven blanket. Drawing her legs up she surveyed her surroundings. It was a chilly, constant 54 degrees in the caves. She removed her shoes and poured the excess stream water out.

Drying her feet on a torn rag, she scanned the Ancient petroglyphs that lined the walls. Nadir seemed fascinated by one particular drawing. He waited until the Phantom turned his back and nodded his head for her to join him.

Christine narrowed her eyes. Instead of geometric figures and handprints; chiseled precisely and painted with ochre, a story emerged from the rock. Immediately catching the eye, it stood out from the rest of the painted drawings.

Nadir, not wanting to disturb the images, pulled a pencil from his rucksack. Using the eraser end he followed the images, stopping at one larger than the others. There were several stick figures gathered in a circle and the larger one seemed to hover over the rest.

Christine drew in a quick breath, protruding from the back were feathers in the shape of wings. "Shaman, do you think," she whispered.

Nadir shook his head to the negative. Taking her hand he placed it above the drawings. Her hand began to tingle.

Jerking her hand back she widened her eyes in awe. Nadir continued, stopping at another picture. One stick figure was lying down surrounded by other figures. Copious tears fell artistically down the wall.

The next vignette portrayed the larger figure overshadowing the one lying down. The story continued with the stick figures once again in a circle, legs bent as if in dance.

The last picture in the set showed the injured figure's empty bed. The dancing circle was still there but now including the former bedridden figure.

Erik startled the two, "Looks like the Plains Indians had their own version of 'healers'." Erik removed a cave spider from Nadir's shoulder, gingerly placing it on the ground, "Not to interrupt the archeology lesson, but we all need rest. My intention was to use this as a temporary resting place.

He turned to Christine, "How long do you think Ratcatcher will be out, Ms Daae?"

"He is so large, maybe five or six hours?"

* * *

"He has been privy to many secrets that need guarding or changed. I will leave at dark and ensure our business stays our business. We actually aren't ten miles from a diner that has wi-fi."

Nadir handed Erik an empty rucksack to bring food back in. Rubbing his stubbled chin the Daroga spoke his mind, "Why isn't Ratcatcher dead?"

"Whatever do you mean, Daroga?" Erik idly watched the sun set behind the mountains.

"As of yesterday, he would be a corpse before becoming a liability to you."

Erik shrugged eloquently. He wasn't sure himself why he didn't finish the job for Ms. Daae. "I don't think Ms Daae could handle the thought of being involved in a murder, Daroga."

Eyeing the younger man contemplatively, Nadir nodded, "Maybe so."

"How is your posterior, my friend?"

"You noticed?"

"How could I not? Yesterday morning I would have had to cut a travois for you. This evening you walk like a rooster."

"She tried her best for you, my friend."

Erik turned from the older man and slid a hand over his mask, "I will keep trying until it works completely."

"What about Machaeon's interest in her?"

"I am an independent agent for hire, you know that Daroga. I absolutely refuse to follow the code of other organizations. It is a good way to get oneself killed. At this moment in time, I just happen to work for two opposing organizations.

Erik looked Nadir in the eye, "I have decided to coach Ms. Daae's voice and retire from espionage."

Nadir's jaw dropped. "When did you decide this?"

"Today while I was gone from the cabin. I will leave Andre and Firmin in charge of the casino with you as their CEO, if you want the position. We are not getting any younger. Remember that was our plan to begin with before Ratcatcher killed those young men, an innocuous place to retire."

A wistful note tinged his tenor voice, "I would like to start on my family as soon as possible."

Feeling a little sorry for his friend, Nadir placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be in a big hurry, Erik. Some men take years to find the right woman."

"Like you said, I have narrowed the field down. She will be a singer or opera aficionado. A woman with those tastes surely isn't hard to find." Erik picked up his personal backpack and mock saluted his friend.

Nadir watched him disappear into the darkness. "Oh my touchy friend, a good woman is more than the total sum of her voice."

* * *

"Christine Daae," Shade jumped up from the ottoman he was lounging on. Turning a speculative eye on the others in the room, he snorted. What are the chances that we all would be looking for the same woman?

"Read what the email said, one more time." Alan looked up from the laptop he was working on.

"Daae worth more than what they pay you. No allegiance is worth a million dollars. No reason to believe it isn't legit, it has the Core computerized watermark."

A loud beep permeated the room. Reyer opened Carlotta's bread box, and removed the newest transponder. "This one is coded guys, Summer you are the quickest at this, what does it say?"

Summer picked up a notepad and pen, "As of 01:00 this morning, there was an attack on the Mid Eastern Compound. All three healers abducted and no surviving Core guards."

Carlotta placed her face in her hands. "And so it starts. Why hasn't headquarters given a Code Green?"

Not unlike his mentor, Shade paced the room, "Christine Daae is safe," he offered.

"How so, Agent Shade," Reyer punched code questions into the transponder.

"The Phantom has her."

"Phantom," Alan jeered. "I thought a masked genius was some kind of bogey man meant to keep new recruits on their toes."

"Actually, the name Phantom, strikes terror to secret organizations all over the world. His secrets aren't mine to reveal, but I will let you know he has Ms. Daae. If anyone can keep her safe, he will."

"Not to be insulting, but who will keep her safe from him? Is it me or did he just kidnap her, and outmaneuver three damn good Core agents," Alan spouted.

Shade whipped around, "You are either going to trust me..."

"Whoa," Lance pointed to the transponder, "Every light on the machine lit up."

Summer hurriedly grasped the notebook, "South Western and North Pacific compounds attacked. Subjects kidnapped. No guard left alive."

Grim faced, the agents turned the television on. Shade cursed, how did the media become aware of the compounds' existence and their subsequent attacks?

"Just in from WIOG, a casino in North Carolina was bombed about ten minutes ago, there are no reports of casualties as of yet. The National Guard is trying to contact the owners of the casino. Our sources say the owners are an P and N company.

"From our vantage point the building looks totally destroyed. Wait! This in from State Police, no one is to leave the Reservation area. A lock-down has been ordered. We repeat: no visitors are to travel to or from the Reservation area. All homes and businesses are to lock their doors."

Shade swung his arm out in frustration, "Can you use that transponder on a different frequency?"

Reyer furrowed his graying brows, "This is the newest technology, I don't think there is another frequency."

"Sure there is." Shade picked up the electronic device and pulled out a knife.

"Hey, there is no way we can get another right now, if you….never mind." Alan sat back in frustration as the machine was summarily dismantled. In minutes, Shade had it back together with more lighted lines than before.

"This is actually very similar to an older version the Phantom invented."

Reyer looked over his wire rimmed glasses, "I can't speak for the rest of you, but once Core contacts us for call to duty, I am missing in action."

"I'm in."

"So am I."

"Ditto."

"As much as I can do," Carlotta muttered.

Four sets of eyes turned to Shade.

"Gotta stick with my homeboys if there is a problem, they've always treated me like family."

"Understood," Reyer held his hand out to shake Shade's.


	34. Chapter 32 Her Name is Rachel

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Her name is Rachel

"Sequoyah?" Hawke rose up off the bed, jumping to his feet. "How is this possible?" Hawke studied the turban covered head and the long stem pipe draped aross his shoulder.

"Need you ask, my brother?" The tall stranger spoke, his eyes sympathetic."

"He is a clone, Hawke." Raoul carefully placed the aloe bottle on the end table, taking a deep breath, he looked the stranger in the eyes.

Long indeterminate minutes passed as the men assessed each other.

"You are right not to place immediate trust in me, Dr. Chaney. There are many here that are loyal to their creators. What do you see when you look into the windows of my soul, Doctor?"

Having worked with the Cherokee for quite some time, Raoul had learned to look past their stoicism, "I see sincerity."

"And you, brother Hawke?"

"I see a smart craftsman and a brother."

"We cannot talk of anything important in these rooms." The man spoke in his native language.

Raoul furrowed his brow, trying to translate to himself, 'tla osda: no good. You speak: hinegv. Here: a'ni. 'He looked to Hawke then to the regal man before him. "Okay."

Sequoyah nodded. "We are to work together on the Cherokee genome for Machaeon. I will meet you and Miss Giry tomorrow at the new lab. He extended his hand and Hawke shook it.

Hawke's face immediately took on a familiar non-informative look, "We will see you tomorrow, Sequoyah."

Raoul shook hands with the man, worried about the sudden tension in the room. The door opened and a guard directed the warrior out. The two men heard the uniformed man's directions, "Listen Bozo, only speak in English, got it? What did you say?" The voices faded down the hall.

Hawke picked up his tray, and sat at the desk. Devouring his food he didn't once glance Raoul's way.

Noticing that several encyclopedic books sat on the shelf, Hawke picked one up and sat down in bed. He gingerly rested his broad shoulders against the headboard.

Picking at his food, Raoul tried to interpret Hawke's strange behavior. He knew they couldn't speak, but what just happened? He groaned. Those words were his mantra of late.

Readying for a bath, Raoul noticed Hawke had tossed the book on his bed. Sighing, he picked it up in order to return it to the shelf. A folded piece of paper with 'read' written on it marked the page.

Placing his clean clothes over the book, Raoul pretended to eat another bite. Taking up the clothes he pulled out the slip of paper. Replacing the book, Raoul sauntered into the bath.

Raoul searched for cameras. He didn't find any. Sorelli evidently assumed the bedtime and morning searches negated the need for observation in the bath. If they wanted to drown themselves it wasn't her problem.

"Crap," Raoul opened the slip. In bold lettering was the Cherokee alphabet. He hadn't started learning that! He looked again and found some writing pressed into the bottom by something with a fine edge. Hawke's fingernails, maybe.

"F.l.u.s.h," Smart move by Hawke, he thought. Hopefully the cameras didn't pick up the fact Hawke wasn't reading the encyclopedia. Placing it on his bed to pick up was a stroke of genius.

Raoul tore the missive into tiny pieces, wet them in the sink, and finished his shower. By the time he had dressed, the pieces were a soggy pulp. Mild trepidation tore at his stomach as he flushed them.

* * *

"Darius, you must have a heart of gold not to wish Erik ill." Christine rubbed her hands over the fire.

Darius blushed, "Don't get me wrong, Ms Daae. It isn't healthy not to fear the Phantom, but he did take me in from the Wusterlog skirmish. He could have left me to die in that abandoned building. Instead, they carried me out and Nadir nursed me back to health.

"Since I haven't a family, he gave me a job and asked for only loyalty in return. I don't doubt one second if I goofed, I would be a goner. He nearly lost it with me back at the Reservation. If not for Nadir's intervention, he might have followed through," Darius absently rubbed his throat.

"You speak English very well, Darius. Are you the only civilian he has helped in that way," Christine wondered.

Darius looked at Nadir, and the older man nodded, "He did the same for Shade in South Africa, and he allowed Ratcatcher to follow them out of a trap in Bosnia controlled Sudderstown. Shade was only ten at the time, though."

Christine and the two men stared reflectively into the flames in companionable silence.

"You were wrong Ms Daae," a voice grit out from the darkness.

Darius jumped up from his sleeping bag, darting guilty looks around the cave.

Exhaustion and hunger warred inside of Christine. Not a good combination. She corralled her temper, "Wrong about what," She looked toward the entrance.

"Ratcatcher must have aroused about the same time we settled here." The voice accused behind her left shoulder.

"I gave you my best estimate, he is a big man."

"It was a pitiful try," the voice spoke from her shoes.

"Now listen…," Christine screeched, her voice echoing off the cave walls. A cold hand had deftly jerked her around by the shoulder.

She felt his cool breath brush the top of her head. Long bony fingers bit into her shoulders.

"There was time enough for Ratcatcher to spill what he knew."

"Machaeon has been at work," Nadir observed.

"Probably. Some organized effort bombed the casino.

"Shade," asked Darius in a choked voice.

"No survivors were found," The long fingers tightened and began to shake Christine. "Because of you, I lost a very good man. Not counting all your precious Native Americans in my employ. Are you happy? I didn't take you for being a vindictive liar."

"Not one person blacks out for the same amount of time as another," Christine growled in between shakes. She reached out and tightly grasped his jacket sleeves, in a futile attempt at removing his hands.

Nadir threw another log on the fire, lighting the area more. Amid the ensuing pops and crackles he tried to intervene, "Stop shaking the girl, I don't believe she could have a set time-table Erik, after all, that was only the third or fourth time she had performed that maneuver."

The Phantom continued, his fingers digging deeper into her skin as he shook her harder, "All three healer compounds were raided today and dozens of Core guards annihilated. The healers have all disappeared.

"Homeland Security was unprepared.

"Twenty minutes ago England and Israel notified the President that their compounds were under attack also."

With obvious disgust, Erik pushed Christine to her blankets, turning his back on her. Furious she scrambled up. She wasn't General Daae's daughter without picking up something from him.

The men didn't see it coming.

At wits end, she quietly stalked the Phantom until he turned to face the fire.

Walking between the flames and the agitated masked man, Christine drew back her small fist and felt it crash into flesh and bone.

"I told you I'd whack you again. Something I learned from my Daddy. No one, I repeat, no one manhandles me," she huffed, shaking her stinging hand.

In shock, Erik stood still. The woman cold cocked him!

In that small moment, Nadir and Darius grasped her arms and pulled the angry prisoner into the shadows. Christine wiggled until Nadir hissed into her ear. "Place your hand at the level of your eyes."

* * *

A knock resonated on Carlotta's door. Summer opened it. A red-faced Agent Robinson stood on the threshold. "Agent Rose, these are for yourself, Agent Ryer, Agent Guidiceli, Agent Berkley and Agent Cousteau."

Saluting, he turned on heel and left.

Reyer opened his first. "I was afraid of this. Consider your vacation as an administrative leave of absence pending upon a thorough investigation. Please do not have any contact with headquarters, we will notify you of debriefing location."

Shade watched as each agent tossed their missives on the couch.

Carlotta sighed, "I guess being covert isn't a question, now. We aren't considered team members."

Shade quiered, "They link Daee's kidnapping to these attacks?"

"Evidently. There goes our contact to Core equipment," Summer made a moue with her mouth.

"That's the only good thing that's come out of this," Lance muttered.

Summer narrowed her eyes at Lance, "And what is that suppose to mean?"

Reyer immediately straightened up, "If you two cannot work together…"

"Sorry, sir." Summer murmured.

"Statement retracted sir." Lance uttered in his best 'armed forces' voice.

"What kind of equipment are we in need of?" Shade asked.

"We have one transponder. The rest of our equipment is below the diner."

Shade picked up the transponder and started punching numbers. "I have a contact that can hook us up. Her name is Rachel."


	35. Chapter 33 part one Chaos

**This will be another chapter divided in half.**

Chapter Thirty Three

Chaos

Shaking from the aftermath of her unusual, sudden fury, Christine obeyed. Nadir and Darius followed suit, placing their hands level with their eyes. Nadir used his other hand to direct her toward the cave entrance.

A cold chill skittered up Nadir's spine. The masked man began to laugh maniacally, the echoes ricochetting off the walls.

"For the love of Allah…,"

"He's gone all the way bonkers," Darius finished for him.

Christine noticed the masked man's eyes had taken on a feral yellow. Keeping her hand in place she turned to run.

"They are waiting for you."

Stopping, she hunched her shoulders, hesitantly waiting for him to speak his mind.

"Ironic, no? Leave one kidnapper for another more powerful one. What do you Americans say, 'Out of the frying pan into the fire.' But… you'd be with your daughter, then."

"He is right Christine, the entire area could be full of enemy agents, yours and ours," Nadir sighed.

"What did you mean, be with my daughter," Christine turned around and deliberately let her hand drop.

"Ah the devil you know…"

"Cut the clichés, what did you mean about Connie?"

"Ratcatcher didn't have to look far, Machaeon operatives discovered him at the cabin. Doesn't matter if he was loyal or not, they tortured the information out of him. They left this calling card," the Phantom threw a photograph at Christine's feet.

Keeping her eye on Erik, Christine picked the photo up. She placed a horrified hand over her mouth, the picture was of the captive men and women on the plane.

"Look at the reflection in the window," the Phantom had started to pace.

Christine handed the picture to Nadir who immediately whistled, "Dugan!"

"Agent Dugan? The same agent Dugan assigned to Connie? No," her stomach roiled. The cavern began to twist and curve transforming into a disappearing pinprick of light. Her legs turned to a flimsy rubber, unable to bear her weight.

She aroused long enough to find her head cradled on a cool pillow. Snuggling her cheek on the material, she lost herself in a welcome rocking motion.

* * *

"Carlotta old girl, how much of this medical paraphernalia do you need," Alan inquired while unzipping a suitcase.

"Meds and crutches are all, oh yeah, a standard first-aide kit. Stuff all the blankets you can in there, we will need them until we set up base. Soap and towels. One set clothes.

"Summer, empty the box of breakfast bars in my bag. I have two mess kits than you can toss in there. There is a box of various size batteries in the freezer."

Alan handed Carlotta her Ruger and extra ammunition. She tucked it under her blouse. Summer knelt and placed boots on Carlotta's feet.

Lance's knock sounded over loud in the room. Summer opened the door and greeted him with a quick touch to the arm.

"My truck's gone. We will pick up our new transportation on the way out."

Within minutes, Reyer arrived with a red backpack, "I made it before Core closed the account. There is no more."

The correct knock sounded once again. Summer admitted Shade and Agent Rachel.

Carlotta inwardly sighed, another innocent to the field to train? They hadn't done so well last time with Christine.

Maybe they were okay. This Rachel Vandyke was a slim, dark blonde with enormous blue eyes and long lashes. She had the body of an athlete and to Carlotta's relief, walked with confidence.

Shade closed the door and made introductions. The girl didn't hesitate. "I have three rental vehicles on their way. My husband is waiting for us to arrive about 08:00 in the morning. I am only going to tell you this once. My children live there with us and if you do anything to compromise their safety he won't hesitate to hunt you to the ends of the earth.

"We have two stops to make, one for Agent Cousteau's new vehicle and one for extra mechanical parts. Forrest my husband, manufactures all the equipment we use. No one has access to bug them or place their own hardware on them."

Shade broke in, "If you come in contact with the Phantom before we give the ok, abort, I repeat abort this mission and leave for your safe spots."

* * *

"Dr. Chaney, since you have a working knowledge on how to use a microscope, this will be your work station. Miss Giry, you will be manning this computer and logging the sequences of DNA that shows immune fallibility."

"Let me get this straight. Scientists all over the world are working to rid civilization of diseases and you are counter producing genomes that have little if no resistance? What are you planning on doing, replacing the disease free markers with yours," Raoul questioned.

Sorelli chucked the doctor under the chin, "I knew I had a reason to keep you alive, Doctor."


	36. Chapter 33 part two Chaos

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE PART TWO

Chaos

Christine tossed her head in an attempt to evade the cool liquid dribbling down her chin. She grimaced, it stubbornly followed each movement!

"Madame Daae, wake up," she felt a light touch smooth an errant, damp curl from her forehead.

Christine's eyes fluttered open to stare into mismatched blue and green ones.

"Here drink this," elegant, cool hands lifted her head. She felt them tremble as they assisted her clumsy attempt at drinking.

Erik tried to squelch the butterflies springing off the walls of his stomach. His chest and arms could still feel the warmth from her body. In her sleep, she had snuggled her head under his chin, making the breath hitch in his lungs.

Erik frowned, mentally dissecting the unusual feeling… There wasn't anything wrong with his lungs. He was out of sorts over Shade, yes, that was it. He hadn't had time to process the untimely information regarding the bombing.

"Are you hypoglycemic, Ms Daae," Nadir's voice sounded across the cave.

"Yes, I've never done this before, though." Christine sat up in order to take the steaming cup of soup from Erik's hand. Nonplussed, she smiled shyly at the Phantom in thanks.

Embarrassed, she inwardly groaned. Did she actually cuddle up to this man instead of a pillow? There was no accounting for behavior in dream states.

Clearing his throat, he answered, "You are welcome."

Darius dropped a pan he was washing while Nadir looked down to hide a satisfied smile.

* * *

Alan helped Carlotta out of Lance's new Humvee. "Thank God," she spoke into his ear, "If I could, I would kiss the ground. I kept expecting Lance to drive down a mountain side."

Looking around, Carlotta noted that Shade and Rachel had arrived earlier. With a crunch of gravel, Summer pulled into the drive manning a sports utility vehicle. Minutes later Reyer followed putting along in a compact family car.

Carlotta faced a log house nestled in a valley situated between several hills. Shrill whoops rent the air. Two tow-headed children burst out of the front door nearly knocking Rachel down.

A tall, thin man dressed in a blue, plaid shirt and jeans exited the barn. Hugging Rachel he then turned to the others. "Welcome. Cole, take your sister inside and start on your schoolwork."

"Ah, Daddy," the young boy grabbed his sister's hand and shuffled into the house.

Absently rubbing his blond beard, Forrest Vandyke surveyed the group before him. He was familiar with Shade, but these strangers made him uneasy. He was placing a tremendous amount of faith on Shade's young shoulders.

He and Rachel had worked hard to make the ranch an innocuous safe haven. Turning, he entered the barn followed by his wife.

Summer shrugged, then pulled on Lance's arm. The couple followed suit. Alan stayed close to Carlotta as Reyer and Shade brought up the rear.

The group passed several animals munching hay in their respective stalls. Reyer jumped when a snorting, bay Percheron, reached down and mouthed his beret. Mustache twitching, Reyer retrieved the slobber-riddled hat. Holding it gingerly with two fingers, the agent glared at the giant equine, "That wasn't nice, have I ever tried to eat your saddle?"

A rooster flapped his wings, crowing at the newcomers. Rachel gently pushed the startled chicken off the old tractor he perched on.

Forrest hopped up and started the machine. He rolled it approximately four feet and a door slid open in the floor.

Concrete steps led down to a work room. Alan felt like they transported him to seventh heaven. Mechanical parts lined the shelves as finished transponders, cameras, small phones, and weapons lined the tables.

Computerized screens covered one wall with an entire section devoted to the sky. A large telescope blipped and whirred with each satellite it spotted.

An antique propeller hung from the ceiling. "Watch yourself," Carlotta warned a bemused Alan, as he collided with her crutch.

After the door closed overhead, Forrest indicated for the group to pull up seats.

Carlotta snickered to herself, she never thought she would ever sit on a tractor seat, even though someone had welded it to an old milk can.

"You are probably wondering who we are. Rachel and I have thirty years experience between us as Core operatives. During this time we worked only for Core, myself on foreign field work, and Rachel had her own office at H.Q. When Rachel became pregnant with Cole, for the baby's safety, we both decided to retire.

"We compromised and opened this shop as a way to keep our skills.

"Rachel was and still is, the prime plane spotter in the nation. She continues her work down here. We work with the United States Air Force, the Pentagon, FBI and CIA, among others."

"Forrest found he had a genius for electronics. Those same groups commission him to make new espionage equipment prototypes. Most turn a blind eye to the fact he does not work exclusively for anyone. No two agencies receive the same equipment. It is easier to track them that way.

"Forrest's only requirement being: nothing of his origin is for use against the States.

"His electronic ability is rivaled by one other person: The Phantom.

"Not having a family enables the Phantom to search worldwide for parts or minerals needed for delicate commissioned objects. He scratches our backs and we scratch his so to speak."

"Being agents, you are aware that sometimes the government's left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. It is a dicey situation," Forrest rolled a pencil between his hands, causing the implement to click against his wedding band.

"Rachel has worked on a way to track air traffic flying over deadly vortices. We have not, nor do we plan on, inviting the government in on her research at the moment.

"Before I go farther, we have to apologize Agent Berkley, she saw your blip signature flying into Montana and not too much later the Phantom requested information. That is how he found Ms Daae."

Alan scowled but refrained from commenting.

"What do these vortices have to do with our situation," Summer turned from studying the telescope and radar.

"I'll explain that in a minute, Agent Rose. The way we see it, your situation ties into our research. Christine Daae's daughter and friends disappeared off the grid. While a confused government scratched their heads, Rachel made a discovery the following morning after their disappearance. My wife's high frequency radar picked up a blip over the Pacific Ocean.

"We researched and called in several contact favors, but no one knows of any plane, rocket, weather balloon, air force testing material, UFOs or fart clouds in that area at that specific time," Forrest ground out in an exasperated tone.

Rachel brought down a screen with her laptop. "If a plane started over the Pacific at this time," she pointed to a clock imbedded in the picture, it would take approximately one hour to reach where I spotted the blip.

"We all are familiar with the Bermuda Triangle and Devil's Triangle, but few laymen know that the world's oceans hold no fewer than twelve of these vortices. Secondly, scientists such as ourselves, are unsure where the anomalies caused by these vortices actually begin or end."

Rachel circled some artifact on the screen, "These types of blips are common place and seem to appear worldwide."

Lance looked around and asked, "Why hasn't the government captured these things or at least videotaped them?"

Rachel sighed, "That's just it, these blips are flukes, they are consistently invisible to the most sensitive of government equipment."


	37. Chapter 34 Birds of a Feather

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Birds of a Feather

"Maybe we should ask Wonder Woman if we can borrow her invisible plane," Alan quipped.

Carlotta groaned. Picking up a newspaper she neatly smacked Alan on the head.

Hiding a smile Rachel held up a hand, "Wait, he might have something.

"The government has a group of aerospace engineers working on that very concept. Unfortunately, they have been on it since WWII.

"The Core labs have only recently joined in the search. For now they have concentrated solely on metallurgy. Forrest and myself hope to involve Phantom, and yourself, Agent Berkley to explore other angles. If he is willing to work on it, I expect the two of you will have a prototype in under six months."

Brows furrowed, Summer stood up and walked away, "You aren't saying we are facing an invisible type of transportation, in enemy hands no less?"

Forrest picked up a plastic tub placing it on the table. Picking out random files he passed them around to the others, "Here are minuscule samples of sightings or non sightings, if you will. Core has a store-room full of others."

"This is starting to sound like an Indiana Jones movie," Alan sighed as he pinched the skin between his eyes. He shrugged, raising his brows when Carlotta's elbow gouged his ribs.

"Before we go any farther," Rachel placed file boxes in front of each agent, "These are your individual files. They start from the time of your birth until the kidnapping of Ms Daae."

Alan nearly turned his chair over, "How…,"

"The sad fact it wasn't hard, Agent," Forrest gave a solemn moue.

"We are a minority but Rachel and I are of the opinion that since the Phantom works for Core, the four of you could hardly be blamed for Ms. Daae's disappearance. Although we don't have a complete picture, her kidnapping may have something to do with the Phantom's Machaeon work.

"He is known for acting first and reporting later. The man has access to sensitive, classified information on both sides.

"I know this isn't new to the six of you, but there is obviously one, if not several moles in the Core infrastructure. The President doesn't want to bother with the puppies. He insists if we capture the big dogs the pack will follow.

"Don't quote me but I see a complete revamping of Core substructure in the future."

Hesitating for a second, Forrest ran a hand across the back of his neck. "There is no easy way to say this, so here it is... we received a tip that the company Vice President is looking to blame someone in this group with the security leaks. It looks like it is secondary solely to the timing of the bombings and subsequent kidnappings."

Agent Vandyke raised his hand at the sudden cacophony of voices, "Colonel Marcum of special forces was apprised of the situation. His men are preparing to search the ranks at headquarters for answers.

Forrest surveyed the furious Agents," To go off subject a bit, Rachel and I were actually glad to hear from Shade. Trustworthy agents are 'few and far between' it seems."

"I'm sorry, but I don't follow," Lance interrupted, shaking his head in consternation, "You surely aren't talking about us."

"If I am reading the situation right, the five of you were about to go rogue.

"That's what I would have done, if for no other reason than to clear my name. I presume that thought is foremost on your minds now, considering this new information.

"But... from what I understand, before you met us, you _planned_ to take Ms Daae from Phantom and her consorts from where ever they are, that sounds like you were still working in Core's interest to me."

Rachel picked up a blip file from the box, "Help us with this and allow us to help with your mission. Become ghost members of our team. After it is over, we will provide affidavits of your loyalty."

Reyer narrowed his eyes in response to the new situation, "Before I respond, why would Core allow you to leave in the first place? Rachel as lead spotter, and yourself as a foreign agent would possess invaluable information."

"How does any agent retire? Not everyone goes out in body bags. Believe me, we wanted to work as regular contract scientists, but Core insisted on keeping their fingers in the pot. They promised all the safety protocols available to them if we would help when needed.

"For Cole and Tatiana's sake we agreed to act as engineer consultants. They help us eradicate any electronics that fall into the wrong hands, and most importantly protect our children, and we stay on-call," Forrest stood behind his wife, hands on her shoulders.

Summer sat down, "Agent Vandyke, with moles on board, can the children stay safe?"

Rachel's lip twisted for a moment, "No matter where we place them now, it would be uncovered. Who would protect them better than us?"

Summer darted a quick glance at Lance, "How do other agents keep their families safe?"

"Most don't take the risk," Reyer muttered pensively as he rolled his pen between his fingers.

The younger agents were well aware of the reasons behind Reyer's single state. A heavy quiet hung in the air.

Clearing his throat, Forrest redirected the conversation,"I don't know if any of you have thought of this troubling angle, but the hypothetical question of the moment on our minds is… do invisible airplanes carry invisible nuclear weapons."

"Santa Madre de Dios," Lance sighed, opening his file.

"Who does Core think invented this _inviso-plane_," Reyer asked.

"Special services have ruled out all the educated countries, the best British and United States operatives have launched espionage missions since the mid forties."

"How can I help," Carlotta firmly snapped her file shut, "I can't speak for the others, but until I am healed completely, I will need help in clearing my name and dodging that oncoming accusation bullet."

"Each one of us has many talents to offer, Agent. It just so happens your Ninja training is on hold for the time being. You are tasked with a new level, equally valuable to your cohorts. After today's news, I wouldn't blame you if your loyalty to Core was less than stellar," Rachel stated with a matter of fact tone.

"Your mission is two-fold. We are trusting you with our most valuable secret, our children. They will be under your jurisdiction. Start thinking like Grandmother Vandyke."

Carlotta swallowed turning pale.

"If any of you wish to decline this mission, I will give you a head start but will have to eventually apprise Core of your last position." Forrest turned to each agent individually. Everyone nodded their understanding.

Taking a deep breath, Summer asked, "What are our orders?"

"Agent Giudicelli yours is the most varied mission. When called upon, you and the children are to assist Rachel in manning the radar and telescope computer readouts.

"Cole and Ana know how to print the information and are invaluable resources as gophers. We have done our best to keep their childhood normal, but obviously had to instill extra safety issues. The kids used to think everyone had a basement like this in their barn.

"Agents Rose and Reyer, you are a father-daughter team who will be purchasing a warehouse in Popular Hollow, Washington. When up and running, this warehouse will be where we build our first, to use Agent Reyer's term, inviso-plane prototype.

"Shade's orders are to locate the Phantom and apprise him of the new situation. We have lost contact with him.

"Since Shade is sure Phantom has Ms. Daae, then all the better. She is the last known healer available. London's and Israel's healers were taken as well. The European rogue is still at large. I would assume the kidnappers will amp up the search for that individual too.

"Lance we want you to concentrate on the warehouse's security.

"The Phantom has the best working knowledge available to us. I assume that you have by now deduced that he is a double Machaeon-Core agent."

Summer cleared her throat, "An invisible plane that has been around for decades and has not yet been captured… my thoughts are: whoever owns this craft has other things to hide.

"No one saw any of the recent healer compound attacks coming, or the bombing of the Cherokee Reservation casino. It looked like it imploded. Invisible transportation would explain that."

"I read the President is like a 'hen on a hot rock' about the healer abductions," Alan spoke thoughtfully.

"Until needed at the warehouse, why don't you and Agent Cousteau investigate invisibility in regard to the kidnap victims," Forrest nodded in approval.

* * *

"We didn't get a single bite in Mexico, boss," A trendily dressed teen informed Zane Dugan.

"We had to clear the area, Mario. So, Doctor Chaney isn't adverse to untruths when it suits him. Mario, I want you to work in the lab with Chaney and the Giry woman. Report every seemingly innocent conversation."

"What are we to do with those healer creeps, boss?"

Dugan smiled faintly at the new speaker, "For now keep them happy. Start spreading the cruelty rumor regarding Sorelli, among those poor, lost sheep, Barrow.

"We can't count on Bouquet any longer, sources say he was clipped. Garoted, probably by the Phantom.

"Phantom is aware of the shakedown by now. I don't believe for one second he left The Ratcatcher alive out of the goodness of his heart. Anything that man told us is suspect. Let mask-face think we are on the lam.

"I'm sure the Daae woman isn't taking her kidnapping sitting down. We need to concentrate on Sorelli for now.

"Okay, boss." Barrow left the office.

"His antennae doesn't go all the way up. What a waste of a test tube, remind me to rid ourselves of him later. No wonder they killed him and the Parker woman," Disgusted, Dugan tossed a pencil on his desk.


	38. Chapter 35 Hormones

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Hormones

"You were right the house will be the perfect spot to lie low. Nadir sighed, "I got the car stuck in those craters you call a driveway, Erik. I had forgotten you had restored that place.

"You know, I don't regret our stay here in the cave. I found some mushrooms last night that are extremely rare. Guess I owe Ratcatcher."

Nadir shot a satisfied glance around the cave. "Looks like no modern human was ever here."

"Darius, take a limb and sweep the cave floor behind you." Erik ordered as he picked up his rucksack.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed that Darius had shouldered Ms Daae's backpack as well as his own. The young Iranian shyly shook his head, stepping aside when she reached out to take it.

Nadir grinned, "Youth. Looks like Darius has found someone fancy."

Erik grumbled, throwing out an elegant hand, "We don't have time for such Mickey Mouse sentiments,"

The Phantom strode over to relieve Darius of his burden. He then threw it at a confused Christine.

"I would like to leave any time." The Phantom snarled.

"I could stay here and you wouldn't be a bit late," hands on her hip; Christine glared at the masked man, her tone sickly sweet.

"And I could use the knock out serum.. again," Erik retorted.

Ignoring the red splotches on the woman's face, Erik exited the cave entrance. With a martyred sigh, he stopped and impatiently waited for Christine to catch up with him.

Nadir shouldered his pack, muttering darkly, "Whenever you two get within speaking distance of one another, it feels like Desert Storm all over again."

* * *

Hawke nonchalantly listened in on the foreman's conversation. Nothing. The man actually seemed to expect him to eavesdrop.

Now Connie was a different matter, she just had to giggle and every red-blooded male on a horse found their way to her resting spot.

Hawke's visage darkened, 'she had better be careful', he thought.

The brunette actress had rolled her pants legs up and was splashing water on her face. It looked to the disgruntled brave as if she was deliberately allowing some of the liquid to dampen her shirt.

"How you gentlemen stay on a horse all day is beyond me. I guess you are mighty big and strong all over…er, your leg muscles must be mighty big and strong," Eyes all innocence, Connie prattled on delicately downing a flavored drink offered by a Fabio look-alike.

Hawke strangled on his water, she didn't just say that?"

"This exercise is good for me but I need something to keep my mind occupied. I work better that way. I'm sure y'all get paid by how much we do, right?"

She looked over the cliffs to the calm ocean. "You think I would be able to take a swim today? That is if I can borrow a bikini."

"I'll be glad to take you, Connie," the lanky blond smiled.

Hawke didn't miss the group reaction to the word bikini.

"Is there anything interesting at all around here," she reached out and picked a leaf off Fabio junior's shirt, leaving her hand on his arm.

"You're the most exciting thing to happen in a long time," the foreman leered.

Eager to oust his superior, one of the younger men interrupted, "We did have some excitement last night, Sorelli's healers came in…"

Connie lowered her lashes as the older man elbowed the newcomer in the solar plexus.

* * *

"Nice work Einstein, the information is good but how are you going to dodge lover-boy?" Hawke had impatiently waited until they were alone once more.

"That time of the month?"

"Ai yi yi," Hawke placed a palm to his aching forehead.

* * *

Carlotta closed the book she had finished reading to Anya. Pulling the soft blanket to the sleeping child's chin she ignored the pain racking her pelvis as she tip-toed across the room to close the shutters and lock the window.

Preparing to check Cole, she heard a floorboard creak in the hall. Freezing she felt her stomach clench. The Vandykes were in the workshop! Backing up to the wall, she grasped her crutch firmly.

The door knob slowly turned. Shooting a quick look at Anya, Carlotta waited for the intruder. The door opened to a darkened hall. A shadowy figure crept in. With a rebel yell, Carlotta swung the crutch.

A muffled 'oomph' met her ears, as the figure hunched over. Preparing to strike again she heard a strangled voice cough, "I really did want to be a father some day."


	39. Chapter 36 Dumbfounded

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Dumbfounded

Erik ground his teeth. He was almost at the end of his patience. Nadir's dark gaze in the rearview mirror could have bored holes into him fifty miles ago. Darius wasn't much better, with each noise the sleeping Angel beside him made; the anxious young man turned around in the front seat and felt her forehead.

Phantom wondered if he should just break the youngster's arm and be done with it.

Nadir hit a pothole, causing the sleeping woman to weave. The Phantom's eyes widened behind his mask. She would land in his lap if she fell! Too late. For once speed defied him. She toppled over, landing with a soft groan.

Clenching, and unclenching his long fingers, Erik searched for a place to pry the sleeping beauty from his lap. He hesitated when she softly sighed, rubbing her cheek on his thigh. Shifting in the seat, Christine pushed her head back slamming into his belt line. Erik groused grimly at his lack of foresight. A pillow would be useful right about now.

"Pull her legs up on the seat, Darius," Nadir ordered, "At least we can make her comfortable the next few miles. Considering the serum is nowhere near wearing off, I still say a blindfold would have worked more efficiently."

Erik wondered when he started ignoring Nadir's irritating barbs. "Daaroooga, "he growled warningly.

Wait until we arrive my friend, Nadir promised to himself. A mischevious glint entered his eyes and he decided to search for potholes, hoping the back of Christine's head would bounce fairly hard against Erik's unprotected anatomy.

A few hours later, Darius turned the new SUV onto a dirt track. Erik had insisted they change drivers, growling that Nadir seemed to hit every pothole in the road.

Slowing to a crawl, he dodged the higher patches of grass-covered median, while simultaneously trying to avoid the deep ruts.

If it hadn't been for the marks Nadir left earlier, he would fall into the same deep craters. Daroga had complained that it had taken hours to wrench the vehicle out. He believed him now.

Darius slowed to a stop. A three-story building loomed ahead in the dark. Erik dismounted, stretching his cramped legs. He threw a set of keys to Nadir, and reached for the sleeping woman.

"Darius, start carrying in the cargo."

Slouching his shoulders, with a resigned nod, Darius opened the vehicle's hatch door.

Shifting Christine's weight, Erik emitted a sarcastic snort. Carrying the Angel was beginning to become a habit. Looking down at her serene face he raised an invisible brow, maybe not such a bad habit after all…

Nadir opened the door and was waiting for the Phantom. Erik ignored the Victorian gingerbread exterior that he normally took pleasure in.

Not needing a flashlight, eyes adjusting easily, he carried his burden up the curving stairs.

Stopping in front of a bedroom door, hitching her up higher in his arms, he reached for the doorknob. He stopped dead in his tracks. Chills chased each other up his spine. That did it! He had to stop carrying her while she was sleeping!

When he had repositioned her head into the hollow of his shoulder, the darn woman wiggled and buried her nose in his neck!

Striding across the wooden floor, Erik deposited her, none too gently, on the bed. Taking off a glove, he traced his fingers across his neck where she had nuzzled him. The masked man shivered all over. The feeling her warm breath made was akin to a caterpillar walking on his skin.

Pulling one side of the spread over her sleeping form, he hastily exited the room. Nadir would have to get over it, he was locking the door behind him.

* * *

The young teen continued to stare holes in the group working by the microscopes. He was obviously deliberately staying within hearing distance. The trio had quickly figured that Dugan had planted him. He surely wasn't there to work. He rarely turned the pages of the records he was supposedly checking.

Meg looked imploringly at Sequoyah. She used a long nail to tap out one, two, and three over and over while she was filing. How could she get him to understand?

She needn't have worried, the blonde found a copy of the Cherokee alphabet in the bottom of her water cup. Swaying to the women's room she hurriedly scribbled a simple note, placing it into the cup.

Meg took a chance and carried the cup back to her workstation.

Sequoyah walked by, "Here Ms. Giry, we aren't suppose to have drinks around the computerized equipment. If you ruined one of these babies, I am afraid Sorelli would have our necks. I'm headed to the break room anyway, I'll wash it."

"All known healers except Daae here."

Sequoyah sat at a station across the room, labeling test tubes. He started to sing to himself in a low voice.

Mario walked over and kicked his foot. "Hey chief, knock it off, comprende?

Sequoyah looked up regally. "You should know how it feels away from your culture. You are from Mayan ancestors, no?"

"How'd you know that?"

Sequoyah nodded his head, "I too am a clone, but that does not mean I don't hear when others speak. Sorelli and Dugan were discussing your trip to Mexico.

"The song is nothing but a way to ease my time here. I will quit if it bothers you."

Mario rubbed an earlobe, "No, it isn't hurting anything, but before I go, how old are you?"

"I have been here forty years."

"And you've never been anywhere else," Mario asked, "How many times have they cloned you?"

"This will be my last time."

Mario looked down and swallowed, "I am on my last time, unless they can fix that glitch in the DNA spin down.

* * *

"I will sing a song of prayer for you," Sequoyah nodded.

Raoul listened to Sequoyah sing throughout the afternoon. The brave changed songs frequently; suddenly a phrase caught the doctor's attention. The sentences all started with the same words over and over. He could have slapped himself, "All healers here. No Daae."

* * *

"What do you think you are you doing-not announcing yourself," Carlotta hissed.

"Tend to Anya and I will be on the back porch."

It took Carlotta almost twenty minutes to settle the girl down. She had looked at Carlotta with an emotion akin to hero-worship in her eyes.

She held her hand out for the Agent to slap. "Good one. That'll teach 'em that girls are as smart as boys! Can you teach me how to yell like that," She bounced lightly on the bed, "It sounded like Tarzan was in the room."

Once again the girl drifted off and Carlotta checked on her brother. Thank goodness he was sound asleep.

She found Alan leaning against a weathered post supporting an old dinner bell. "That's quite a swing you got Old Gal. Ever think about the major leagues?"

Carlotta settled herself into one of the rocking chairs, "Sorry about that. What's up, Berkley?"

Alan stared up into the night sky. "I would hate Rachel's job. I just want to enjoy the stars. Keeping track of them would take out all the awe," he climbed the porch steps and sat by the other agent's feet.

Carlotta filled her lungs with the fresh night air. In the distance a whip 'o' will called. Examining the sky she noticed how closer the heavenly bodies seemed when they weren't competing with artificial lights.

The two sat in silent companionship for a while.

"I don't think star-gazing was on your mind, Berkley," Carlotta broke the silence.

"Lance and I are leaving about 0:300. We are checking out the healer disappearances hoping to get a lead to their whereabouts. We should be back before the big move to the warehouse."

"Don't do anything stupid, Berkley. I'm not there to keep you in line," Carlotta teased.

Alan stood and held out his hand. She placed her hand in his and smiled, as he gently assisted her out of the chair.

"I won't do anything stupid if you don't," she answered.

Glad the woman didn't have heels on; Alan reached out to tilt her head. He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I'm taking that as a promise," he searched her dark eyes then stepped off the porch.

Nonplussed, Carlotta watched him disappear into the darkness.


	40. Chapter 37 Retrospection

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

Retrospection

**A/n: I changed a few things in the past four chapters that will indeed change the actions of some of the major characters. Thanks for reading!**

Erik closed the door to the last bedroom in the hall. Ignoring the sheet covered furniture he hesitated in front of an antique mirror. Hesitantly he reached for the cover, hand stopping in mid-air. His mind screamed, shrilly reminding him that he didn't need a reflection to verify what his fingers already knew.

That fateful night in the cabin, his hopeful, musician's hands had gingerly explored the unchanged curse he called a face. Every damning crevice and ridge were the same faithful contours that emerged along with him on the night of his birth. His only consolation was that the surgery scars were gone.

He pulled back his hand, no, there was no need to look. Turning on his heel, he crossed the room to open the French doors. Stepping on the balcony he stared unseeing into the darkened landscape. Relying on habit the Phantom placed his hands behind his back.

None of the feelers he had sent out returned positive. Erik growled, he could care less about the casino right now. His concern was for Shade.

The young man was either in hiding or dead. Thinking of the ten-year old boy he had taken in, the Phantom's eyes teared up. If alive, he could only hope his protégée remembered the training he had received in his care.

Reaching under the mask he curtly used his fist to scrub the hot tears from his cheeks. He protested inwardly. Damn, the mess he had made for himself! The woman had made him careless.

For months now, he had known someone from Machaeon was covertly tailing him. The conversation he and Nadir had overheard between the stranger and Bouquet only confirmed his suspicions. Yet, selfishly he had continued on. All in the quest for a normal life.

He couldn't look for Shade, now, without leading the enemy straight to him.

A few minutes ago, Erik had wearily returned from informing Darius and Nadir of the news. Another thing to add to whatever was troubling the Daroga. The masked man decided to bide his time, Nadir was hiding something...He would eventually uncover the problem, he always did.

Finding little solace in the night, he closed the doors. Erik opened a small case. Retrieving his violin, he ran his fingers across the familiar wood.

The comforting scent of rosin filled the room. His mind continued to painfully race. Why had he allowed Ratcatcher to live? There was no telling what the man had revealed under torture. Fatalistically, he shrugged. What was done, was done.

On a personal level, how was he going to convince Ms Daae to finish healing his face? She said the result was a fluke. Erik's eyes darkened. Could she be toying with him? Experience with the human race dictated that the woman would cruelly raise his hopes then laugh at his gullibility.

Stopping for a second, he bowed his head. Yes, he had to own his actions. He had done nothing but terrorize her, even after she had offered help without coercion. She had little reason to want to assist him. Realizing his thoughts were foreign for him, he furrowed his brow. Was he finally going insane?

Erik placed the instrument under his chin and closed his eyes.

* * *

Christine pried open her heavy eyelids. Dag nab it! He did it again. She wanted to rant and rave and possibly throw things. Have a fine old temper tantrum. But to what avail?

At least the accommodations were better this time. Swinging her feet to the side of the bed she waited for a wave of dizziness to pass. How in the world had she gotten into this mess?

The consequences of being a healer had followed her all her adult life. Still, she had remained safe and content among the world's poor. Wasn't it enough to persevere through the tragedy of her father's death, and stay serene as Connie moved out from under her vigilant care? Why were things so difficult, now, when she could no longer rely on her father's sage advice?

She placed her face in her hands. Hindsight was 20/20. Why had she fought falling in love with Raoul? Didn't she love him as a dear friend? When had she become too sanctimonious to enjoy this one life she had been given? Look what happened, Raoul and Connie both had disappeared beneath her benevolent radar.

She had been so worried about proximity being the ogre, that she had discounted what Madame Absence could do.

The Best. With a unlady like snort she stood up. She had become too enamored of that title. Somewhere inside, pride had taken root.

She considered the dark man residing somewhere under this same roof. What kind of life had he known? Sure, he was guilty of kidnapping her and trying to force her to heal his face. But didn't she act as if healing were a gift that she alone had the right to enforce? Decide who received and who did not?

The last time she had bothered to look, two wrongs didn't make a right. Curse or gift the decision to heal wasn't hers to make.

How did others handle this ethical dilemma? A dark thought snaked through her reverie. The others didn't have to handle it. Core made the decision for them.

She tried the hall door. She gently bumped her forehead against the cool wood. Figures. Locked.

Opening a smaller mahogany door, she found a quaint bathroom. Christine wearily washed her face then returned to the room. Pulling a dust cover from a wing backed chair, she absently folded it. Christine settled in and pulled her leg under her. Gingerly grasping the lace curtain away from the window, she stared into the darkened sky.

She needed to start acting like a mature woman, not a testy teenager. She couldn't control everything. Then again, when had she turned her will over to Core? The group didn't own her, they were there for her protection.

When had she began this pity party? There were thousands of war widows like herself. Others who lived every day not knowing how their husbands died, just like herself.

Look at Nadir. He had overcome tragedy and lived without protection: without anyone realizing his abilities.

An unwanted image reflected back in the window's glass. A dark shadow slithered across a soldier with red hair. Suddenly the soldier grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. The shadow turns its head and Christine gasped. She was staring into her own face!

The image twisted into the form of two women weeping by a grave. She slammed her fist down on the chair arm. She could heal a compete stranger but couldn't help her own father. What good was she?

Heart pounding she leaned her head back. Christine closed her troubled eyes. Deep down she knew she was responsible for the deaths of her young husband and father.

She missed Raoul as well as Connie. Her heart ached, skipping several beats. Where were they? What was wrong with her? She couldn't even summon a single tear. Her mind began to drift once again.

She didn't expect fulfilled promises from Erik. The Phantom was not a nice man; those words remained a predominate mantra throughout her thoughts. The horrifying and graphic images in the cabin continued to bite at her soul, yet each one was overlaid with regret. Weak, but it was there, none-the-less.

She ignored the scarabs that had appeared squealing at her feet, remembering one of her father's favorite quotes, 'This too, shall pass.'

The ancient insects scattered at the first mournful notes of a violin.

* * *

Raoul sat on the beach watching Connie dodge the blond foreman's advances. Meg was asleep beside him, stretched out on a towel. Hawke and Sequoyah sat in earnest conversation a few yards away.

Frowning, he wondered how he was going to protect Christine's daughter if she insisted on being risqué in order to obtain information.

There were very few women here. He had met a Madame Curie clone and seen a few athletes at a distance. It wouldn't be hard to fall prey to a deprived man's advances.

He hoped Christine was safe. That thought was the only thing keeping him sane. In his previous well ordered world, only Lazarus and Jesus died, then lived again. Death was irrevocable and final. Lazarus had to eventually experience it's final throes.

What Dugan and Sorelli were doing smacked of blasphemy. Raoul shuddered.

The doctor gathered his wandering thoughts. 1)They were in an area the modern world could not locate. 2) The plane was either untraceable or made to appear as if it had crashed. 3) Upon reaching the last cloning term, most of the individuals in Sorelli's care would jump at the chance not to end their cycle of living. 4) Placebo specimens were mysteriously disappearing. He was keeping a double record of the missing tubes as not to alert the culprit.

He had studiously watched Sorelli and Dugan. She seemed to believe in her own propaganda: they were living a better life here on the inlet and cloning was a necessity. She took measures to ensure the population stayed healthy and somewhat happy, thus Connie's request for sea air was granted.

Dugan, on the other hand, showed blatant disrespect behind the woman's back.

Sequoyah had mentioned that new prison cells were being constructed at night. Raoul ran a hand through his tousled hair. Didn't the Bible say hell was expanding its gates everyday?


	41. Chapter 38 Loose ends

THIRTY EIGHT

Loose Ends

**A/N : I hope every one who celebrates Thanksgiving has a good one. A sincere wish for those who don't.**

"She _will _eat breakfast down here with the rest of us." Nadir glared grim lipped at Erik.

Darius picked up the filled plates from the kitchen table. In this atmosphere they could learn to fly.

The Phantom towered over the tenacious Iranian, hands curled into claws. Changing tactics, his tenor voice turned smooth as honey, "Too much freedom…"

Nadir crossed his arms, "Nope, not gonna work. That voice hasn't worked on me since you were seventeen. She is a person, not a means to an end. I know very well you could end my life within five seconds, but something tells me you won't."

The Phantom rose to his full height, opened his mouth and raised an index finger. Nothing. He drew a blank. Shocked, mouth falling closed; he backed up bumping into the sink.

Nadir's face turned from resolute to confused, "Erik? Are you okay?"

Erik walked over to the table, sitting down, he rubbed his forehead.

"Coffee," Darius poured a cup and shakily placed in front of The Phantom."

"Thank-you."

The young man could feel his face turning white. The Boss said, thanks, twice in one week? There was something badly wrong with him, "Nadir, is he having a stroke?"

Erik's lowered his head to the table and his shoulders began to shake.

Nadir hesitantly placed a hand on the masked man's shoulder. It was bound to happen, a life of constant fight or flight could undo a man.

The Daroga could hear the grandfather clock strike in the living room. All was quiet except for minute snuffling noises from the seated man.

Wait! Nadir's eyes narrowed. Pulling on the masked man's shoulder, he tried to see his mouth. Dad-blast- it! The older man slapped a shaking shoulder in irritation.

He hoped the fleas of a thousand camels infested Erik's arm pits. The Phantom was laughing!

Lifting his head, Erik swiped at a tear on his chin. "I wish I could have seen how ridiculous we looked."

Darius replaced the plates to the table, "I did, and it wasn't so funny," he muttered.

Slapping Darius on the back, Erik offered with a smile still in his voice, "I'll go face the dragon."

"Ms Daae is the dragon," Nadir questioned sarcastically, flipping a wet dishrag at Erik's retreating back.

"Missed," Erik mocked.

* * *

Christine had been up for a while. After a soothing bath, she tried to straighten out her travel-worn costume. Finished making her bed, she took the towel off her wet hair. Finding a brush and comb, she tugged at her curls.

Not finding anything to bind her mane back with, she shrugged. The curls hung to her waist unimpeded.

She had pulled all the dust covers off before bathing. The room was a treasure trove of antiques. Mauve and cherry wood were the dominant characteristics. A small Persian rug lay by the bed. A cheery white bedspread, curtains and pillows finished the decor.

There was an old bed warmer standing in the corner. A curious but beautiful picture hung over the bed. It was a desert scene at sunset, the mauve streaks matching the rug and upholstery. What made the picture so striking was a set of eyes that appeared to gaze out of the horizon. A transparent veil covered the orbs that seemed to shyly watch the occupants of the room.

She tried to read the signature, squinting, all she could make out was the letter 'k'.

Sitting down in the wing backed chair, hearing birds outside, she prepared to look out the window. She felt better this morning after a night's sleep in a bed.

Once the last scarab had made its exodus, Christine had laid in the bed listening to the extraordinary music emitting from the unknown violinist. A strong intuitive reverie plagued her thoughts. A tiny voice seemed to wind tentative fingers around her mind. She couldn't fight the insistent notion that she was innocent and her own worst enemy.

Reluctantly she arrived at the conclusion she was never going to find out the truth regarding her husband. There must have been nothing she could have done for her father, either. If there was, she would have moved heaven and earth to do it.

Those heart breaking occurrences were the movements of a higher power. If she let herself, she would fall back into a dark void, brooding on why God let good people suffer.

A knock sounded at her door,"Come in," she answered.

She stood up and grasped her stomach. The crazy organ had begun to flip-flop. Standing in the door was the Phantom. She cocked her head. She knew bits of his background and what he hid under the mask, but this was the first time she actually looked at him as a man.

Inordinately tall he was whipcord thin. Erik no longer wore the inevitable black hoodie. She noticed he wore a soft white shirt and black jeans with confidence.

The stark white full mask contrasted with his sparse, black hair pulled back in a short queue. She watched as his thin lips pursed. He was returning her appraisal.

Ms Daae stood bravely before him, her glorious hair caressing her waist. Her dark expressive eyes trained on his every movement. He had not realized how petite she was. The top of her head would not touch his chin. One side of his mouth lifted in amusement. The woman was actually wiggling her toes on the carpet as she waited.

Erik's mind wandered back a couple of weeks. During the show, she had been resplendent in the red sequined dress but she carried the wrinkled costume just as well.

His new, unfamiliar, conscience pricked. She needed more clothes, "Breakfast is served downstairs," he offered, looking everywhere but at her.

Christine edged around him, obviously uneasy as he followed her downstairs.

Nadir looked up from the sink, smiling he chimed, "So there you are!"

Darius held a chair and she smiled her thanks.

Erik watched Darius seat her, inwardly groaning at the way the boy fawned over her. Preparing to descend the basement stairs he stopped upon hearing Nadir clear his throat. No, Nadir couldn't be asking him to eat with her at the table!

Turning around he searched the Daroga's face. Yes, that's exactly what he was asking of him. Scratching his neck, he sighed. There was no time like the present to start trying to gain her confidence.

* * *

"I feel better after all that fresh air at the beach last night," Meghan sighed, "I talked with Connie. She said she'd be more careful. But, I didn't like the look in her eye."

Raoul ran a hand over his face. The strain was beginning to wear at him. He felt an innate responsibility for the women…and yes, Hawke, too. The young brave had confessed to feeling like a 'fish out of water'. He had to admit he didn't feel much better.

For once, Sequoyah and Mario weren't in the room. Raoul surveyed Megan. Her wheat colored braid wrapped around her head and she wore one of Sorelli's female uniforms.

"What is going to happen to us, Raoul, "Meg placed her head on the file cabinet, a sob in her voice.

Raoul pulled her into his arms. "I don't know, Meg. The only thing I know for sure is that we all need to mind our manners and stay alive. There are a lot of undercurrents here that I don't understand. We could be treading on an inlet peppered with explosives. A veritable land mine, damaging both physically and mentally.

Meg stepped back, "Look at me, making things harder for you," she sniffed. She glanced up, her blue eyes searching the doctor's face.

"There may never be the perfect time to say this again, but thank you Chaney, for your level head and your caring nature." Reaching up, she clasped her arms around Raoul's neck, bringing his lips to hers.

* * *

"You be careful," Lance ordered Summer. He hardly recognized her. She wore a tailored business suit. Stylish heels enabled her to look a few inches shorter than he. His fingers itched to loose her beautiful hair from the simple chignon. Thick, designer glasses rested on her pert nose.

Reyer leaned out the driver's side window. "Come on Agents, daylight is burning. Don't worry Cousteau, this is a piece of cake assignment for her."

Straightening a wrinkle in Lance's shirt, Summer smiled, then walked around the coupé. Blowing a kiss, she then slid into the passenger's side.

Lance watched until the car disappeared out of sight. Alan was waiting in the Humvee, they had work to do.


	42. Chapter Thirty Nine Reward

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Reward

Christine remained silent during breakfast, listening to the lively conversation around her. She noted that the Phantom sipped his tea but didn't eat. She knew she shouldn't but she felt badly, assuming that he didn't want to remove the mask around her.

Breakfast over, Nadir offered his arm and escorted her in a tour of the house, "It is completely self-sufficient," the Daroga rocked on his heels, surveying the living room.

"Don't you sound like a proud Papa," Christine teased.

Nadir's ears turned red as he cleared his throat, "You don't have to be a father to stand in awe of a genius at work. Solar panels generate electricity and we have a well for water. There is a large greenhouse out back."

"Most everything is original; Erik did all the work himself."

Christine walked across the room to a large creek stone fireplace. Running her hand over the mantel she admired the antique clock and figurines. Two rocking chairs sat in front of it.

She followed Nadir to the next room. Her eyes widened. A beautiful piano took up one corner, bookshelves covered the remaining walls. Books and music scores competed with antique musical instruments for space.

Running her hand over a shelf of books written in several foreign languages, Christine wondered, "Did he read all of these?"

Nadir shrugged his shoulders, "I'm really not sure how many languages he can speak," Waving his hands to encompass the room, Nadir added, "But music…music is his native language. He can play every instrument in the room by ear."

"Wow. Nadir can I tell you something? My voice. I can sing a little, but that wasn't me at the diner."

Nadir grasped her shoulders and turned her around, "You didn't…"

Christine nodded her head, "I didn't want to make a fool of myself on live television," she twisted her mouth in self-deprecation.

Nadir snickered. "Hmm, from what I saw, you were a hit more ways than one."

"What does that mean," Christine put her hands on her hips, cocking a brow.

"Nothing, just the ramblings of an old man," Nadir bowed, and then made a sweeping gesture for her to follow him down the hall.

* * *

"Maybe isn't in my dictionary, you _will_ have an answer by nine tonight," Erik slammed his cell shut. Long fingers squeezed the hapless phone as he shut his eyes in ire.

Throwing himself in a chair, the masked man reached in his pocket to absently run his fingers along the lasso resting there. Heaving a sigh, he realized that after all these years the habit no longer soothed him.

The Phantom didn't like turmoil in his private life. Nearly fifty years of existing left a leeching need for peace in his core.

No word from Shade tore at a heart that he thought long dead. Shade wasn't his only problem.

None of his contacts had word of Dugan. Since the alleged kidnapping, Zane's existence remained classified information at Core.

If he didn't know better, it would seem that whoever finished off Ratcatcher had clipped Agent Dugan along with Ms Daae's comrades.

Thanks to all the chaos, he couldn't contact Machaeon for fear of exposing his contact. Rising to his feet Erik climbed the basement stairs. Stepping into the kitchen, giggles met his ears.

"Uno," shouted Darius.

"Oh no you don't, yellow." Nadir countered.

Christine laughed and said, "Back to you, Darius. Give me that card, Nadir!"

Erik heard scuffling along with laughter. Striding to the dining room he found Nadir moving around the table, a card held out of Christine's reach. The Phantom raised his brows, and leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

Darius noticed him first. Smile fading he announced, "Time to start lunch," and slipped out the hall door.

Christine stopped chasing Nadir, "You win," she croaked, winded.

"Nadir, you idiot, look what you have done to her voice," Erik pulled the card from the Daroga's hand, "Make yourself useful and fix her some hot tea."

"I'm fine…" Christine squeaked startled, when the Phantom grasped her wrist.

Pulling her into the middle of the living room, Erik realized he was holding her wrist. Looking down at the delicate hand lodged in his, he fought the urge to run his thumb over her knuckles. He dropped it like a hot coal instead.

Cursing his pounding heart, "Sit, open your mouth," he ordered, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket.

"Woof, woof," Christine grumbled, taking a seat.

Erik stopped and tapped his foot, sighing.

"I do this under protest," she opened her mouth allowing Erik to peer inside.

The Phantom peered at her throat then clicked off the light. "Seasonal Allergies?"

Christine blew a curl off her forehead, "Yes, I just developed them recently."

The Phantom started to pace, hands behind his back, "Being outside these past few days hasn't been good for your voice. Nadir is fixing you some tea as we speak, I will have him brew up a medicinal one."

"Look, Erik, about my voice…," Christine started to confess.

"No if, and, or buts, I don't want to hear another word, you will drink the tea."

Christine tightened her jaw. He certainly didn't want to listen to anything she had to say. Maybe she should keep her secret for a while in case she couldn't heal his face.

It would be another reason to keep her alive. Although, she had picked up on some softer, human traits the past couple of days. Rusty ones, but she'd take them.

"We will start tomorrow and find where you are with your voice," the Phantom spoke while walking.

Christine couldn't help noticing how he walked with an innate grace, silent as a cat. His shoulders were broad for such a thin man. Her eyes widened, and she quickly slammed them shut.

She didn't just do that! She cracked open an eye and thought with a groan, 'Yes, she had actually checked out his behind. There wasn't an ounce of fat on the man's body. His wrists were so thin they were almost effeminate. If it weren't for muscles covering the bones, he'd look like a skeleton.

Christine mentally shook herself. She didn't realize she was a booty woman. Closing her eyes again she tried to bring up a picture of Raoul's posterior. No luck. Must not be one of his attributes.

Feeling like a school girl, giggling out loud, she didn't hear Nadir's offer of tea.

* * *

Sorelli addressed the group sitting around the tables, "As I advised you before, we no longer have to participate in copulation to procure children. I am sure you have noticed there are very few women here on the inlet.

"We do not let our clones fraternize willy-nilly with each other for obvious reasons such as gene pool compatibility. Human foibles such as jealousy could cause a riot, therefore, we ensure each clone is sterile.

"About twenty years ago, we tried a medication completely eradicating sexual desire. It had too many side effects, most frightening, suicidal ideation.

"I am proud to say our women have enough control and awareness to realize that showing overt attraction when they are severely out numbered, could be disastrous.

"Thus the uniforms," mused Connie.

Sorelli sighed, "Most of our men are clones and have had aggression removed from their genes. There are several non-clone males, such as our guards, and are monitored closely. They are not allowed to be alone with a female.

"Recently, numerous requests for personal time have found their way on my desk. Several of my gender would like to participate in that particular pleasure. Evidently workers at the spa gossiped regarding a certain male's attributes. Causing renewed interest in copulation.

"I can count on one hand the times someone requested a particular male. The women are usually content with the one we pair them with. There are two couples that meet regularly, the others left disappointed in the act.

"You allow couples to become long-term," Raoul questioned.

"One of our doctors has a study regarding the question of wether couples in long-term relationships live longer because of the relationship, or if genetic predisposition meant they were to live longer anyway.

"Another question he is working on is; do humans give off a rare pheromone that attracts a life time mate. Is the ability to send these pheromones genetic? With the world's divorce record we all know marriage for life is a rarity.

"He isn't getting anywhere." Sorelli shrugged.

Raoul rubbed his chin. "Wouldn't the subjects have to have their sexual organs intact to send these pheromones off?"

"We are researching the viability of leaving certain males and females intact.

"Consequently, there are a few women that I would like to reward for excellent work. I don't have a valid reason to turn down their requests.

"Miss Daae, Mr. Hawke will not accompany you the next few days."

Thinking of the lecherous foreman, Hawke questioned, "And why not?"

Sorelli rubbed her temples, "You, Mr. Hawke, are their reward.


	43. Chapter 40 Obedience

CHAPTER FORTY

Obedience

The sudden silence was deafening. This was all they needed. Brows furrowed, Raoul waited for the fall out. Any moment now, three, two, one…

"Oh no! I will not become a gigolo! No way, no how," Hawke exploded in a rage, overturning his chair. He towered over Sorelli, breathing heavily. His hands clenched at his side.

Two of the guards stepped forward crossing their rifles in front of the irate brave. Nudging none too gently, they forced him away from the resolute woman. One reached out to grasp his shoulder, Hawke immediately shrugged him off.

Connie flinched as she felt the bottom drop from her stomach. She numbly watched as Dugan calmly left his seat to stand behind her chair.

"That becomes a problem then, Hawke. Requests have bombarded me, also. It seems little Miss Daae has become a sought after item.

Dugan rested his elbow in his other hand, tapping his lip mockingly with his index finger. "Let me see, there are over three hundred men on this inlet, soldiers, clones and scientists. All have been without women for at least a year."

Picking up a lock of dark hair he pretended to examine it. "Imagine their appreciation if she is accidentally locked in the men's barracks."

Grasping Connie's chin with unprecedented force, he turned her face toward Hawke.

"It has come to our notice that when she wants something, our little actress doesn't hesitate to piqué the foremen's attention with her attributes. By the way, clone number 564 is no longer with us to spill delicate information.

Connie swallowed; the hapless clone could only be the young man who dropped the information regarding the healers.

"Either you can become an escort to a handful of women, or she will become a one woman brothel. Oh, any impregnation can easily be dealt with."

Irate, Meg started to protest, shutting her mouth when Raoul's foot met her shin.

Releasing Connie, Dugan strode over behind Meg, "Why not Miss Giry, you ask? Well, she doesn't know it yet, but she is on reserve," Zane ran the back of his hand down the frightened model's cheek.

With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, Dugan glanced at Raoul. Eyeing his clenched hands resting on the table, the agent goaded, "When the cat's away the mice will play, eh, doctor. I am sure Ms. Christine isn't thinking about you either."

Raoul refused to be baited. He eyed Zane, "Hawke may be male, but this is nothing short of rape, Dugan. Are you insinuating that Connie somehow deserves to be locked in a barrack full of men because of her looks?"

"Oh, I'm sure our young buck will eventually become placid as a teaser pony. As for Miss Daae, she will grow up eventually." The agent dismissed Raoul's statement with a wave of his hand.

Placing his cheek against Meg's blanched one, he made a show of inhaling her perfume, "Our cameras happen to catch an interesting scenario yesterday. Seems you aren't quite the ice queen where the doctor is concerned, eh, Meghan."

Rubbing her chin to rid herself of Dugan's touch, Connie glanced at Raoul with a question in her eyes.

Hawke clenched his jaw, "I know what this is, divide and conquer, make us fight among ourselves."

Sorelli narrowed her eyes, interrupting, "Enough! Stop baiting the prisoners, Dugan."

Zane smiled at Sorelli toothily, moving away from the trembling model. "As you wish."

With the threats foremost on her mind, Connie reached out to grasp Meg's clammy hand.

Gesturing to the young Indian, Sorelli ordered, "Take him to the spa and when finished bring him to me," she nodded toward Hawke.

A rear guard stepped up to Raoul, training his rifle on him.

Hawke stood glued to the floor, unmovable as an old oak. One of the guards proceeded to poke him in the ribs with his rifle as if he were a rambunctious steer. Erupting into motion, Hawke grasped the gun, slamming the barrel into the guard's face.

Blood leaking from his nose, the soldier ran a finger through it. Examining the tell-tell red, he smiled and wiped it on his uniform. Raising his weapon, he prepared to slam Hawke with the butt of his rifle.

"A bruised and bleeding lover isn't much of a reward, soldier," Sorelli raised a hand to stay the attack.

"Take the others to their prospective quarters. They are too riled to use today," she ordered the other guards.

"Hawke, you are an intelligent man. Think on the consequences of any impending refusals on your part. Go, the spa attendants are waiting," She pointed toward the door.

Hawk growled, glancing apologetically at Connie, he allowed several guards to escort him out.

Once the room had cleared, Sorelli turned to Dugan, "What was that, Captain," she hissed.

"This inlet is not a war zone! We have existed peacefully for decades. I did not approve of that clone's eradication. It took years to perfect non aggressive male tendency genes.

Standing up her hands splayed on the table, Sorelli gritted, "Using the laser on him was like drowning an innocent puppy!

"Threatening Daae and Giry is an uneeded stressor on potentially valuable specimens!

"Until further notice, every decision regarding these people _will_ have my approval, understood?"

Zane clicked his heels, saluting. "With your permission…"

"You have my permission for nothing," Sorelli spat, "Dismissed, Captain."

With a cruel, secretive glint in his eye, Agent Dugan took his leave.


	44. Chapter 41 Thwarted

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

Thwarted.

"The media shots didn't do justice to the damage here," Alan cautioned Lance.

Adjusting his earphone, Alan smiled in approval. The Latino man appeared over an adjacent hill right on schedule. Lance attired in jogging gear was in the midst of a few heavily breathing runners.

The pilot watched the new arrival stop at a bench and wave the others on. Once the other athletes were out of sight, Agent Cousteau moved to join the kaki clad photographer. The man ignored him and continued to stalk a flitting, green colored warbler.

Thickening his accent, Lance called, "Hey Boone, didn't expect to see you here! What do you think of this mess?" He waved at the demolished casino site.

"Daniel old chap, long time no see! Could you be so kind as to keep your voice down? That was a rare warbler you spooked. Seemed it was quite the distance from his normal habitat. Don't just stand there, it's gone now, come and chat a spell."

Lance chuckled softly. Alan could set up his own camera store with the gear he was wearing. Joining the other agent he asked, "Want me to help you carry some of this stuff?"

"Tut, tut, my boy. I'm not too old to carry…"

Lance reacted quickly as Alan dropped a heavy, long lens camera.

"Good catch," Alan twitched his fake mustache a-la Reyer. "The Lady Eleanor gave me that one back in…let's see…1998. As a concession to my increasing years, I will allow you to carry that treasure."

As one, the two conversing men tread the path leading to the destruction site.

"The government is keeping a low profile. There are six guards, two in the rear, two front, one where the south entrance was and one at the north," Alan informed Lance softly as he stopped to peer into his camera.

Lance pretended to move with music as he adjusted his earphones. He eyed the yellow police tape criss-crossed like a giant spider web.

"From hacking into some lesser government offices, I found the big wigs are treating this as an inside accident. The blue-bloods didn't want to revisit 911 hysteria and have the ruins gone over by non-partisan groups."

Lance didn't react to Alan's news, seemingly lost in his music. He watched as the older man exclaimed over a bird firing off a series of camera shots in the direction of the ruins.

"I need some close-ups," Alan mused, as they arrived at the police perimeter.

"Eleanor spares no expenses when it comes to her avian friends, feathered or no." Speaking in a loud voice, fake mustache twitching, he tapped the hopped-up video button on the bottom of the camera, winking at Lance meaningfully.

Both agents pretended to ignore the guard approaching them in a determined stride.

"Look, Daniel," Alan exclaimed, "By cracky, rare here, but there goes a Rose-Breasted Grosbeak. I just have to get a shot to show to the club."

Alan slipped under the tape; camera to his eye, practically ran perpendicular to the following guard.

Lance smiled as the guard trotted after the 'birder'. Making sure that a group of women passing by weren't reporters he slipped under the tape. He too placed 'Eleanor's' camera to his eye and turned on the sensitive video.

Trying to run the circumference of the ruins he noticed the north guard. "Look man, I know I'm not supposed to be here, but that old coot on the other side is like a grandfather to me. It would mean the world to get a picture of that Rose-breasted Grosbeak."

The stern guard shook his head, narrowing his eyes, "Excuse me?"

Leaving the video on and pointed toward the ruins, he lowered it to dangle by his thigh. Lance slowly walked to the guard's side.

"A rose-breasted grosbeak."

At the guard's raised eyebrow, he said excitedly, "A bird. A very rare bird in this area."

"I know what it is. How did you get this close to the site?" The guard demanded.

Lance continued to walk, "Well Pops is a determined man, and he spied that bird…Look there it is again!"

Placing the camera to his eye, aiming at the sky, Lance sped by the baffled guard. Turning the video lens, the young agent continued his fast pace taking several series of footage.

Turning the corner, the rear guard bodily stepped in front of him. Once again, Lance hung the camera down.

"What do you think you are doing, punk," the guard growled. I can arrest you for crossing that tape."

Lance widened his eyes. I didn't think about that. I was caught up in the moment. Take me to my friend and we will leave."

Hoping that the moving video would be clear enough, Lance acquiesced as the guard escorted him around the rear to the south side.

A loud cacophony met his ears. The other two guards were trying to take Alan's cameras.

"Hey those cameras are his life. He was just taking shots of birds."

The first guard spoke in a stern voice; the Feds aren't finished with their investigation. Therefore, no close up pictures. We run all tourists off with cameras."

"I'm sure many have cell phones."

"They are too grainy and no use to anyone," the guard answered Lance.

How about just taking the film, and erasing the digital cards?" He picked up his camera, palming the video device.

The guard grunted in response. He had an eccentric grandfather, "Hey Roy! Just pull out the film and erase the digital cards.

"Now wait, I just happen to have a picture of a very rare bird…"

Lance strode over and laid a hand on the irate photographer's shoulder, "Pop it is the film or all your cameras."

"Ahermmmm…,"the man's mustache twisted in a frenzy. "Okay, but be careful," he ordered the irritated guards.

Lance handed over the Eleanor special and watched as they pulled out the film. The guard handling the camera examined the inner options.

"Sweet. Must have cost my whole salary for a year. Where did you get this," he questioned the Latino.

"A lady friend gave it to him," Lance answered, pointing to Alan.

The other guards finished, and Alan busily rubbed invisible fingerprints off his lenses.

"Come on Pop, your little picture taking trip almost got us in a lot of trouble. With a glare at the guards, the photographer walked up hill to the hiking path.

Shrugging and saying thank-you, Lance followed.

"Wait, I need your names," one of the guards ordered.

"Daniel Ebbster is his name and mine is Boone Rivers.


	45. Chapter 42 What does that Mean?

Chapter Forty Two

What does that mean?

Nadir watched Christine inspect Erik's Stradivarius viola. She ran her hand over the wood reminding him of the first time Rookheya held their son.

"I wish I could hear it," she declared wistfully.

Nadir's eyes gleamed, "You play the viola?"

"I do better with the violin, but yes, I can play the viola," she answered slowly, her mind obviously far away.

"Erik and Darius have gone to town. Go ahead and play."

"I don't fancy signing my death sentence," she smiled lopsidedly, returning the instrument to its' case.

"Oh, did you learn to play the same way you learned to sing," Nadir asked archly.

"Do you realize how old this is," she raised a brow, ignoring the jab.

Nadir waved a hand. Feeling like a kid in the cookie jar, Christine rosined the bow and placed the viola under her chin.

Closing her eyes she pulled the bow across the strings. Nadir sighed. Chocolate to the ears! Sitting down he moved his fingers in the air to the music.

Accustomed to the earthy perfection that was Erik, his standards were high, but this woman played like an angel. The two were both ends of the spectrum. He would be hard put to say which flavor he preferred.

The Phantom's music was dark and raw; Ms Daae's light and frothy.

Christine finished the last note, eyes closed, precious memories of her father dancing through her mind. Nadir kept his shut in awe.

The sound of clapping broke the silence. Christine's eyes jerked open wide as Nadir jumped to attention.

* * *

Lance almost laughed out loud. Alan had reached the last line of police tape and tripped. Keeping a straight face he bent over to assist his friend.

"Scoot a little to the right and open up my back pack," Alan demanded in a low voice.

Frowning, Lance did as he requested his back to the destruction site. Alan turned over and sat up, "Put a couple of cameras in the bag. While reaching for Eleanor I want your hands perpendicular with mine."

Lance opened the camera bag and proceeded to load it with equipment. Dropping down to his knee he placed his hands across from Alan's.

"Move slowly to me."

Lance scooted his hand as if he was going to pick up a lens. He almost cursed. His fingers rammed into something. Squinting his eyes he searched the ground. Nothing.

"When I say, lay your hands flat and lift. I'll be ready with the bag."

Alan waved as if he were shooing a fly and grunted, "Hurry."

Lance scooted his hands across the ground palm up, immediately feeling something heavy on his hands.

"What the…"

"Invisible," Alan whispered.

* * *

"Here is the prisoner, General Sorelli."

Sorelli looked up from her desk, "You may leave Lieutenant." She eyed Hawke thoughtfully, "Have a seat Mr. Hawke," she waved to a chair.

"I'll stand if you don't mind," Hawke returned.

Sorelli sighed, placing her pen down, "You don't clean up half bad, "she raised her hand to ward off Hawke's reply.

"I heard your reply loud and clear this morning. I needed an excuse to have this conversation with you, Mr. Hawke. There is something you can do to ensure your friends stay alive."

Taking a key from her pocket she opened a drawer in her desk, retrieving several small packets.

"When you keep your appointment with my sex starved ladies, slip this into their drink. They will be asleep within ten minutes. Hopefully by that time you will have them in bed, none the wiser.

"I want you to search their quarters looking for anything that would be of interest. Files in a strange place, tapes, videos, and pay close attention to possible signs of a male presence.

* * *

Carlotta's heart skipped a beat. Anya had fallen off her pony. Expecting tears, she watched as Forrest placed her back in the saddle.

"Keep your heels down, or you'll keep hitting the ground, girl."

Carlotta noted that Rachel had joined her at the fence. "Here are some documents for you," after flipping her braid over her shoulder the blonde handed Carlotta an envelope.

"Well aren't you going to open it," Rachel inquired turning to watch her husband and daughter.

Carlotta bent the metal holding the top in place. A thin document slid into her hands. Brows furrowed, she squinted her eyes in confusion. Physical Therapy exercises?

The very last page was a hand drawn cartoon of a female Ninja practicing with shurikens. Peeking in a window was a man in a WWI flight helmet.

Rachel held out her hand for the papers. Looking at the drawing a large smile spread across her features, "Looks to me like a certain pilot wishes for you to get back to your old self."

Before Carlotta could answer, the familiar sound of a chopper greeted their ears. Looking up, Forrest yelled, "Hit the dirt!"

* * *

Shade checked his laptop; the signal was strong enough for him to be sitting on the Phantom's lap. He had been up and down this rural road a half-dozen times and still no sign of any type of trail.

Surely they hadn't thrown the transponders alongside the road. Shade groaned. It would just be his luck.

Parking on the side of the road he placed his tablet inside his shirt. Locking up, he entered the woods.

Finding a tall hickory, Shade shimmied up the trunk. Choosing the first branch that looked like it would hold him, he straddled it. Waiting for the tablet to boot up he scanned the woods around him.

Pulling a dreadlock out of his face, he swiped at the perspiration running down his neck. It was sweltering here. The trees were so close together a good breeze couldn't reach him through the twigs.

A jay-bird flitted in the next tree, shrilly proclaiming his distrust of the new intruder.

A loud beep ensued. The signal was on high alert to just north of his current position. Once again Shade scanned his surroundings.

Returning the tablet back inside his shirt he started to climb higher. The bird was joined by another jay; the two of them dive bombing at his head.

He passed an open cup nest with five greenish-blue eggs. The birds were now frenzied, dropping acorns on his head.

Stopping at the last large branch, dodging acorn bombs, Shade looked around. Bingo! To the north was a clearance with a house.

He just had to find out how to get there. He patted his shirt and started his descent. Once back on the ground he gave a two-fingered salute to the parent birds.

They emitted a shrill call, flying over his head. Shade groaned, cursing, as he felt something warm hit his scalp.


	46. Chapter 43 Mishap

Chapter Forty Three

Mishap

"If I weren't' so glad to see you, I'd deck you! Shade where have you been?"

"Long story, Nadir," Shade wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out to the older man.

Taking the proffered hand, not caring that he was a head shorter, Nadir dragged the new arrival close. Once released from the older man's bear hug, Shade ducked his head. Looking back up he noticed Christine.

"So you are the obsession that was eating at the boss! Wow. You are almost as good as he is on that thing."

Christine smiled, "Thanks for the complement, I think. You are…"

"This is Shade, Christine. He is the boy Erik saved during a skirmish about nine years ago."

A flutter settled in the vicinity of Christine's heart. Nadir had mentioned the child Erik saved before. Contrary to the picture she had imagined, the young African American standing before her was a study in etiquette.

She shouldn't have been surprised; Darius had endeared himself to her quickly. Her nurse's instinct kicked in and she unintentionally accessed the young man. Shade's skin was a café' au lait color. Dirty jeans sported a long tear in the leg. His dreadlocks…Christine's brows furrowed.

Walking up to the young man she queried, "May I see the back of your head, Shade?"

Shade stood up straight and blushed, "I'm really beat, think I'll take a shower and crash…" his shoulders tensed as Christine walked behind him.

A laugh caught in her throat. She wasn't a mother for nothing. If she drew attention to his bird problem it would mortify the young man.

"Yes, you look really tired, Shade," she said in a motherly voice.

Shade grinned. He was saved from Nadir's teasing. Ms. Daae had earned his eternal gratitude.

* * *

Carlotta dropped and rolled under a water trough. Muffled puffs of dirt erupted all around her. Hearing a scream, Carlotta's heart caught in her throat, Anya?

Gun fire continued to pepper the ground around her. Clouds of yellow dust impeded vision, leaving her in a surreal reality.

"Mom, Dad, Anya," a small voice was shouting from the house.

"Cole," Carlotta gritted her teeth and made herself as small a target as she could. She modified a simple summersault and found herself at the back door. Ignoring the stabbing pain around her hips, she barely pulled a struggling Cole back inside.

Catching her breath she turned the terrorfied child to face her, "Cole, this is not time for secrets, is there a tunnel between the house and the barn?"

Cole's eyes were enormous in his pale face, "Yes, Carlotta, the refrigerator is on wheels in the kitchen."

Rubbing the boys shoulders, leaning down to look in his eyes, she ordered, "Go to your safe spot. Do not come out unless Mommy, Daddy or myself come for you, do you understand," she turned him in the other direction and ordered, "Now."

She heard the child's sneakers pound the wooden floor.

Taking a tomahawk from a shadowbox; Carlotta shattered Forrest's gun cabinet. She pulled out two handguns and several ammo clips. Actions automatic, resolute hands steadily loaded a gun.

Gun loaded, She peeped out a curtained window.

The helicopter had disappeared between the mountains. Rachel crouched in the horse paddock where Forrest and Anya once stood.

Ears attuned, Carlotta cursed. The helicopter was returning. Leaving the house, ignoring the pain, she raced to Rachel. Neither Anya nor Forrest was moving. The pony lay dead on the ground beside them.

"Take Anya, Carlotta. I'll see to Forrest."

"Place Anya on top of Forrest and the both of us will pull…"

"Please take my baby, Agent!"

The aircraft was now visible on the horizon. No time to lose! Carlotta gingerly picked up Anya, cradling the limp little girl to her chest, turning to run,she chanced a quick look over her shoulder; following in her steps, Rachel was desperately dragging her husband by the arms.

Carlotta entered the house, gasping for breath, her legs growing weak. Pulling out the refrigerator, she felt her her feet fly out from under her.

Funny, she hadn't heard any noise except Rachel's panicked voice outside. The explosion was deafening.


	47. Chapter 44 Mad Mad Worlds

FORTY Four

Mad, Mad Worlds

"It is made of a material that takes weight pressure in stride. Look," Alan raised his shirt to reveal the start of massive bruising along his abdomen.

"If it were breakable or had a tendency to fall off in shards, I would have been gutted like a fish."

"You might have internal injuries, anyway, man. Let me take you…"

Alan"s smile resembled a grimace as he waved away Lance's concern, "I'm sore, but if I start acting like I have internal bleeding, I trust you. For now, since we have this material, we need to find another place to stay."

Lance tightened his lips and shrugged. Alan was right. Their rooms were adjacent to City Hospital. Who knew if the material would interrupt the delicate medical equipment next door.

Changing clothes, he efficiently packed up his meager belongings.

Alan made short work of the cameras, placing the invisible 'rock' into an empty rucksack.

Lance handed the other agent a fishing pole. They professionally morphed into a couple of blue collar workers on vacation. How he wished it wasn't just an alibi.

Grasping his personal case and the 'rock' pack, he held the door open for a significantly slower Alan. Lance narrowed his eyes, his friend was guarding his stomach but that could be related to the bruising.

The elevator opened on its own. An older couple scooted back to allow them on. They started the descent to the ground floor. A shimmy followed by a metallic snap greeted their ears. Alan closed his eyes in aggravation as the lift ground to a halt.

Lance glanced around and whistled through his teeth, "Pop, good thing we aren't claustrophobic."

"Speak for yourself, youngster," Alan retorted cantankerously.

Before Lance could reply, the older man in back had situated himself in front of the door.

Lance's internal radar switched to high alert. Glancing back, he noticed the woman was smiling benignly.

"Agents, don't do anything rash," the man held out a wallet. Alan gingerly eyed the credentials. After a few seconds, he announced, "Looks authentic."

"Yes, we are from Core, and need for you to follow us," the woman added.

"Like I said, _looks _authentic. As it stands right now, we aren't going anywhere with persons carrying Core credentials," Alan had placed his legs apart grasping the fishing pole tightly.

In a seconds Alan was staring at adequate persuasion. The older gentleman had pulled a handgun, "We anticipated that you would have this reaction."

A dull screech sounded above them. Lance looked up, the ceiling had disappeared.

He couldn't do anything in the confined quarters with a gun pulled on them. Especially with the possibility that Alan's reaction time might be slower with the injury he was nursing.

A rope ladder dropped down, "Pilot first, the woman ordered. Without asking, Alan held his fishing rod up first. A fist came from the left to grasp it. He then handed his personal backpack and another arm reached from the right.

At least two others, Agent Berkley thought. Keeping the specimen sack on his back he proceeded to climb the rope.

Lance watched Alan disappear. He too, handed his fishing pole up. An arm with the same colored sleeves retrieved it.

Senses alert he climbed after Alan. He was greeted by five other men situated along the maintenance tunnel.

One of the men closed the trap door and the older couple continued to their destination on the elevator.

He and Alan were herded ahead by two men with guns and one with a taser.

They walked down an incline for several stories until they reached what Lance presumed was the basement.

They were ushered through thick, metal, double doors into a mechanical room with two boilers. Alan forgot to be angry when a side of one of the hot boilers flipped open.

Standing before him, cool as a cucumber, was the older woman. Sweet! He'd never thought of a fake boiler!

Lance noticed Alan's excitement and groaned. He followed Alan and the guards inside.

They descended a short, narrow stair case to a small room with a table and chairs. Lance wrinkled his nose. There was a strong smell reminiscent of embalming fluid.

The woman noticed his face, smiling tightly; she indicated with a wave of her hand that they take a seat, "We are back to back with the hospital's morgue refrigerator."

The older gentlemen spoke up, "We are aware that the two of you have adequate reasons not to trust us," he tossed a dirty twisted envelope on the table.

Alan's stomach lurched. Face impassive, he stared at the other man.

"Go on, open it. You will find it familiar," the man taunted.

"This just means you have confronted Carlotta. It doesn't prove we can trust you."

Lance tried to read his partner's face as the other agent stared at the item. Confronted Carlotta?

The woman sat down and grasped Alan's hand gently, "This was found at a site familiar to all of us. The Vandyke ranch was attacked. Agent Giudicelli and Cole Vandyke were the only survivors.

Alan dropped his head in his hands, palms pressing into his eyes. Lance crossed himself then tightly clenched his hands on the table.

Agent Berkley removed his hands and glared at the woman, "And you know this, how?"

"The whereabouts of the Vandyke Ranch was classified information. As you are aware, moles have infiltrated Core. The group of men standing before you are the clean-up crew.

"Sensitive information passed along a route we are monitoring. Unfortunately, the chopper had been dispatched hours before we intercepted the message.

"Our men were twenty minutes too late," she took a small white dog from the large case by her side and absently rubbed its ears.

"Another team is apprising Agents Rose and Reyer as we speak. Before you ask, the people involved in the covert communications were on the up and up, thinking they were acting upon normal Core business.

"How are Agent Giudicelli and the boy," Alan inquired.

Lance watched the woman pet the dog, something insistantly tugging at his memory. Shade said a woman with a dog had been his contact regarding Dugan!

"She is well. A few scratches and bruises, she had been carrying the girl, Anya, and barely made it into the reinforced tunnel. The Vandykes were behind her…" she lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug.

Lance leaned over to act like he was petting the dog and in one fluid movement had the collar in his hand.

The woman pursed her lips. "So, you have talked to Agent Shade. Go ahead and examine the collar. No recorders and no messages. Has he found the Phantom, yet?"

"Never mind the Phantom, where is Carlotta and Cole," Alan demanded.

"We will take you to them," the older man offered.

* * *

The evening meal finished, wishing to catch up with each other, Darius and Shade offered to clean up. Erik looked at his watch, eyes cutting to Christine behind the mask.

"If you will excuse us Daroga, I would like to see where Ms Daae is with her singing."

Nadir waggled his eyebrows behind the tall man's back. Christine irritably wished she could kick his shins.

Nadir moved to join the young men in the kitchen, "That's okay; I know when I'm not wanted."

Erik closed the music room door. Christine's eyes darted to the Viola. It looked as it did before she played it.

Erik sat on the piano bench bending to search through some music. Christine tried to think of a way of taking his mind off her voice.

His face! Christine crossed her arms, clasping her shoulders.

"Are you too cool," Erik stopped to ask.

"No, Erik. I feel like this might be a good chance to try working on your face again."

Erik stopped, his hand resting in mid air. Turning, he studied the woman before him, "Does the healing ability let itself be known?"

"Not always," she prayed for forgiveness for the lie.

Advancing to Erik, she missed the way he swallowed nervously. The Phantom was well aware of his sudden onset of nerves. A woman was going to touch him willingly again. How was he supposed to react for crying-out-loud?

They made the trip into town for her. He instructed Darius to purchase some new clothing for the healer. Sitting in the car, he had worried that the younger man would select clothes way too young for the woman. He need not have worried.

Darius had impeccable taste. Considering he had shown him on the computer what to buy.

Christine was dressed in jeans with a woven top over a silk shell. The blue flats fit perfectly. Her hair was braided back in a simple weave, held in place by a butterfly barrette.

He had been adamant that Darius purchase Rose scented perfume, no matter what the cost.

Even though she acted like he was ten year- old ruffian, he was beginning to actually wish for this woman's friendship. She reminded him of Rookheya.

Erik absently scratched his ear, suddenly remembering how Ms Daae looked dripping wet by the creek. That memory didn't envoke the feelings of a ten-year old!

Folding his trembling hands in his lap he awaited her directions.

"Do you mind taking the mask off, Erik?"

Licking his lips, he did as she bid. Christine couldn't account for the fluttery sensation in her stomach. She actually had seen worse injuries in her lifetime.

The only way to describe the deformity was…skeletal. Mother instinct took over. She smoothed his hair off his forehead. The strands were silky and baby fine. Gray streaked his temple. It was pulled back in his customary queue reminiscent of a bygone era.

Christine smiled inwardly. She must be an old hippie at heart, she liked the longer style.

Taking her fingers she traced the dry, dark hollows under his eyes, and then allowed them to follow the rubbery ridges of his cheeks.

She skimmed the boning around his missing nose. She could see that before birth the cartilage had started to grow, enabling the internal nose and sinuses to function. He had a high forehead which the mask covered also.

She ran a thumb over the eyelids that covered beautiful blue and green eyes. He had absolutely no brows but thick black lashes adorned his eyes, making the hollows look darker.

The nurse in her was fascinated by the blood vessels. She could watch the blood pulsing to the lungs and back from the heart.

Erik cleared his throat causing Christine to jump. If she kept up those soft touches he was afraid he was going to unman himself.

"Ready," she asked.

He nodded.

She cupped his cheeks with her hands placing her forehead to his. Erik inhaled her essence. It was like he had been wrapped in a warm blanket, and pushed out to float on a gentle tide.

Christine instantaneously felt the inevitable scarabs trying desperately to separate the two of them. She held on tightly. The insects were digging between her forehead and his. Several had piled up on one another trying to enter his unprotected nose.

Erik began to become concerned. Panic wasn't a word in his vocabulary. No indeed..Okay what the hell, he felt like insects were crawling all over him. There, he acknowledged the sensation. Now what?

Christine noted that he had begun to panic, gasping for air.

"Breathe through pursed lips, I'm going to cover your nose. Take in air by mouth only," she ordered, "And whatever you do, do not open your mouth any wider."

He was starting to shake; his skin had turned colder and clammy. In this vulnerable state he wasn't strong enough to keep the malevolent insects out.

Christine did the first thing that came to mind. She closed her mouth over his, offering life giving oxygen. Her mouth was a firm seal the insects could not rupture. Removing her mouth she sucked in air and repeated until the scarabs gave up, dropping to the floor.

They mingled on the carpet, a cacophony of evil, indigo chimes. They didn't try to repeat their attack when Christine replaced her head to Erik's. Once again in a sordid march the beetles made their exit. Ohhh, how she despised those bugs!

The Phantom began to calm down. His fingernails had dug grooves in his palms. He really couldn't explain what just came over him.

Erik could immediately sense that nothing had changed. He had definitely felt the strange static-electrical charge of Christine fighting...something, for him. But his face felt the same. The disappointment was almost too much to bear. The strongest healer in the world couldn't help him.

He felt shame wash over him, she had willingly placed her pristine peaches and cream skin on his dead, gray-yellow hide to no avail.

Feeling the healing power leave, Christine pulled away, making a sad moue.

Nothing had changed, except for the tiny tears trailing unheeded down his face. As if pulled by a god-like string, she closed the distance to his thin lips.


	48. Chapter 45 Beginnings and Ends

Forty Five

Beginnings and Ends

"You will have your own suite, but do not consummate these affairs there. You are to have your liaisons in their quarters. There is no other practical way to allow your surveillance."

"I won't be _consummating _any affairs," Hawke punctuated each word with a peck of his forefinger on the desk.

"Noted," pursing her lips, Sorelli scooped up the packets. "These herbs must be dissolved then immediately ingested. The mixture becomes impotent after six minutes.

"I need not remind you to think of your friends while unsupervised.

"Your first rendezvous is with Gertrude Bell."

Hawke pinched the skin between his eyes, _Gertrude?_ Yikes. He heard a tinkle of laughter. Shooting a glare at Sorelli, Hawke gritted, "What's so funny?"

"The name is antiquated, but you will be surprised with her looks. She was a famous British archeologist and photographer. The only woman the men of Parliament trusted to handle political affairs in Iraq during WWI.

"Her dinner conversation should be interesting," Hawke said sarcastically as he turned to leave.

"Wait, you will be escorted to your new room."

Looking over his tense face she gave a conciliatory huff, "All's fair in love and war."

* * *

"Wait-a-minute, this is the way to the ranch," Lance informed the woman riding in the seat in front of him.

"It is. Agent Guidicelli and young Vandyke are sequestered in the tunnel. The barn and house are totaled. We plan to have a quick memorial service for the parents and sister, then leave."

Alan pursed his lips as the car stopped. He noted that black smoke continued to rise from the ruined house and barn. The acrid smell of burning animal flesh permeated the air.

Jumping from the vehicle, leaving the others behind, Alan hurried to the barn rubble. The trapdoor over the work room was gone.

Rachel's delicate equipment lay in twisted shambles. The blast had torn open the wooden barn floor. The concrete workroom floor housed a twisted metal trapdoor.

Two guards allowed Lance and Alan entry into the tunnel. Alan loosed a sigh of relief. Carlotta was sitting in a rocking chair with a sleeping Cole in her lap. He kneeled at her side, silently taking in the cuts and bruises on her face.

Lance turned away as Alan caressed her face, his thumb gently smoothing her injuries. "You alright, old gal?"

Carlotta nodded, and then looked down at the boy in her lap. Alan contained his dismay. The redhead's black eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.

"I was holding Anya…when I woke up, Core had taken their bodies."

The woman, who said to call her Sari, kneeled on the other side of Carlotta. She reached out an elegant hand to smooth back Cole's hair.

"We brought the urns here. Wouldn't be smart to bury them, too easy to defile," Sari informed her.

Carlotta cocked a brow at Alan, "Isn't he too young?"

Alan stood up, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, "I've read it helps with the grieving process to let children participate."

Giving a nod, Carlotta whispered into Cole's ear. The boy wiggled and opened his eyes.

Sari stood up holding her hand out to Cole, "Where on the ranch was your family's favorite place?"

Cole looked up to Carlotta and she nodded to him, "Mommy and Daddy always liked to picnic by the creek."

A guard emerged in the doorway carrying a box with three urns.

Lance strode over to the chair and picked up the child. Alan offered a hand to Carlotta as Sari led the way up out of the tunnel.

Cole directed the group to a small creek. A young buck raised his head, jumping away with a flick of a white tail.

Carlotta turned to find Reyer and Summer had arrived. Summer strode to Lance tucking her arm through his and patted Cole's back.

The small valley held a quiet intensity. Sari looked around at the sober faces of the agents.

Cole was staring at the urns. Wetting her lips, feeling out of her league, Sari asked, "Do you know what these are?"

Cole nodded solemnly, "I saw them on TV once. Mommy, Daddy and Anya are in them."

"Yes, do you know about God, Cole," Sari asked.

"Yes," his young voice trembled, "He made Adam from dirt."

"You are right, He said from dust you came and to dust you will return," Sari nodded.

The older gentleman named Green, picked up the first urn.

"Wait," the boy held out a hand, "I want to do it."

Lance set him on his feet. Cole picked up the urn and strode over to the edge of the creek. A mild wind ruffled his blond hair. With a sniff, he turned the urn over. Ashes fell into the creek, a small amount floating upon the air.

His jaw set against tears the grieving child did the same for the second and third. A bird sang as the ashes settled. Giving the urn to Green, Cole ran to Carlotta hiding his face against her leg.

* * *

Erik's hands flew out to the sides. Christine's soft lips brushed across his own. She raised her head searching his shocked gaze.

Chills coursed up her spine. In a stupor she couldn't break, Christine slowly looked down and replaced her lips to his.

Erik's eyelids felt like they had ten pound weights attached. To his utter embarrassment, he must have passed out. Surely he had started to hallucinate. Christine now stood before him in full Indian regalia. A warm summer wind caressed her hair. The thick dark locks waved around her head, back lit from the moon. Her doe-like eyes stared into his. Her tongue traced her full lips. A soft smile formed as she modestly looked down.

'What had she done?' Christine couldn't pry her lips from his. She blinked. Another hologram swam before her eyes.

Erik stood before her, reverently raising a pipe to the four corners of the earth. The fringe on his shirt swayed from the movement. An eagle feather adorned his long thick hair. His face was bronzed and whole. His eyes blazed into hers.

The brave reached out a long fingered hand, opening it palm up. Christine watched herself look up. He began to chant, his voice mesmerizing. She could see the world promised in the depths of his blue and green eyes.

Increment by increment, she placed her tiny hand in his. His fingers gently enclosed them. She shivered as she was drawn closer. Those pain filled eyes never left her. She could see the reflection of the moon shining in them.

Christine startled. Behind her a shrill caw sounded. A raven darted between them, crashing into Erik's face. He didn't try to move and protect himself.

Christine gasped. The bird recovered and flew away. She couldn't believe her eyes, the skin on Erik's face had been pecked away leaving….a skeleton.


	49. Chapter 46 Soft Touch

Chapter Forty Six

Soft Touch

Erik's eyes flew open; his shaking hands grasped Christine's shoulders. With a superhuman effort he pushed her back.

Breathing heavily, Christine retreated, "I…I...I'm sorry. I don't understand what happened."

Erik swallowed as he gathered his bearings. Ms Daae stood silently before him, her chest heaving, hand to her mouth. Those expressive eyes held…hurt?

Rage bubbled to the surface. How dare _she_ be hurt? She dashed _his _hope for a normal life, not the other way around.

Jumping to his feet he drifted toward the window. Staring out with unseeing eyes, he berated himself. Even in the fantastical, distant, figment of his imagination, he couldn't run away from what he was.

His fingers clenched the edges of his mask until the knuckles blanched white. A kiss. A woman had finally, willingly, touched her lips to his. Only… not for love but the most malignant of emotions, pity.

A familiar pressure squeezed around his heart. He was a fool. He wadded and threw the woven, black hat he usually wore across the room.

Watching the firestorm of emotions, unable to articulate her apology, Christine took a couple of steps toward the disappointed man.

Whirling around, he roared, "Leave me, Erik does not want your pity."

* * *

The blonde woman took a small sip of her wine. The gentleman across from her was a man of few words. She tilted her head to the side, licking the wine from her lips.

"I would like very much to photograph you," she offered in a husky voice.

"I am not very photogenic," Hawke tried to keep the resentment from his voice.

"Ah, it must be the photographer. You have very good bone structure," she reached out and tilted his chin away from her.

Hawke pushed her hand away. Looking into her eyes he gritted, "Tell me, _Gertrude_, why are you willing to 'test' out my boning, so to speak?"

Gertrude Bell blushed. Twirling her glass in her hands she stopped, placing the glass on the table, leaning in toward Hawke.

"Listen, Mr. Hawke. I am under no delusions. I am a clone. An aberration. A test tube replica of a living, _loving_, breathing woman," She swiped at a curl that fell from her coiffed hair.

"Do you know what it is like to spend your life studying to be someone else? To compete with their needs and accomplishments? The real Gertrude Bell fell in love with a brave, _married_ war hero. What torture it must have been to keep up letters to a man you could never claim as your own. In fact, a man who you never consummated your shared obsession with?"

A tic started in Hawke's jaw, "What _is_ it like to be a clone?"

Gertrude killed the rest of her wine; she licked the residue from her lips. "Pressure, unmitigated pressure. To behave, to think, to look, like someone else? Pressured, tested until you feel like a soulless scarecrow?

"I'll tell you. I am not Gertrude Bell. I want what she was too tight-laced to claim! I want to love someone and have that love returned. I want to experience _MY _life!

"Because…because…One day someone can and will make the decision that it is time for this quasi life to end. My _usefulness_ expired. My DNA will be frozen in Sorelli's freezer to be taken out decades later to combine with someone else's.

"General Sorelli has been more generous than her predecessors. I think she understands the conundrum but she would never admit it, perhaps even to herself.

Standing up, Gertrude waited for Hawke. "You happen upon this islet in perilous times. The advancements made here started out to be for the benefit of mankind. Greed has burrowed in, carrying the plague with her.

Hawke remembered his manners and stood, trepidation eating at his soul. He watched the woman cross to an armoire. Opening one of the rattan doors she retrieved a bag and a tripod. Crossing to the darkened window Gertrude pulled the navy blue curtains closed.

Feeling like a cad, Hawke opened the bottle of wine he had given her. Removing the cork, he poured the packet into a clean glass, leaving no visible trace.

Pouring himself a glass he stepped behind Gertrude in what he hoped was a sexy manner. Standing behind her he reached around to detach her hand from the remote.

He slid the stem of her glass into her non-resistant hand. Taking a sip she turned to smile. "Bring that chair over here; we'll use the curtains for a back drop."

Hawke obeyed. Pulling her down onto his lap he urged her to drink more. Giggling, kicking a shoe into the air, she drained the glass.

Minutes later Gertrude's speech had begun to slur. Throwing her arms around his neck she nodded toward the four poster bed. Hating himself, Hawke laid her down on the Egyptian sheets. Kneeling on the floor he smoothed her hair out of her eyes.

"What's in their plans for you, Gertrude?"

She shrugged, slowly offering a half-smile, "Like every clone here, I will wait for my termination or until one egg turns up all inclusive, mentally, physically perfect."

"Then what?"

"My guess? Mass eradication of the clones and Dugan will murder Sorelli."

* * *

Alan grasped Sari's arm, guiding her out of Cole's hearing, "What is going to happen to Cole?"

Sari sighed, "We have a foster-family waiting in an undisclosed location. Witness protection has their sights on him."

Alan looked down, shaking his head, "The boy looses his family and you ship him off to strangers?"

"What do you think we should do? He cannot have a normal foster home…he needs 24/7 survellience."

Alan nodded to where Carlotta sat under a tree, rocking Cole, "A change of hair color, name, new parents?"

Sari, closed her eyes, pursing her lips, "I'm a soft touch. What happens in regard to your team's research?"


	50. Chapter 47 Big Boy Blues

CHAPTER FORTY-Seven

Big Boy Blues

Nadir stopped teasing Shade at the sound of an irate roar and the ensuing splinter of furniture. He raised his eyebrows at the two young men at his side. As one, the threesome hurried to the music room.

They arrived in time to find Christine exiting the room, head held high, her cheeks ashen with bright red blotches etched across them. She didn't acknowledge their presence, haughtily ascending the stairs.

Shade made a sideways gesture with his hand indicating that Nadir should be the one to open the door. No need to draw straws, he always lost anyway.

Opening the door he slowly stuck his head inside, "Erik?"

"Do not open that mouth of yours, Daroga," the dark man spat.

The African carving that used to hang between the windows lay shattered against the opposite wall. Nadir drew in a calming breath and stepped inside, "May I be of assistance, doomstam?"

"May I be of assistance," Erik mocked in Nadir's voice, "No," he blasted immediately after.

Not looking at Erik, Nadir calmly turned to the carving, leaning over to pick up the pieces.

"Don't," The Phantom held up a hand, "It is not your place to pick up Erik's mess."

To say the least, Nadir was confused. The destruction of property was a familiar trait of the Phantom: admitting said destruction was his fault…priceless! The familiar jingle rang in Nadir's brain.

Suspicious, but worried, Nadir indicated one of the wing-backed chairs.

"Unless you want me to throw it at you, I decline," Erik had already started to pace.

Nadir watched Erik glance at the hall door. The Phantom evidently used his ventriloquism. Shade and Darius quietly entered taking seats in the wing-backed chairs.

Darius slid down in his seat. Eyes flashing yellow while staring the three of them down, Erik silently dared them to mention Christine.

"I am waiting for a call from Green at 21:30. As soon as my business is finished, I want you to contact Rachel, Shade. We need to make preparations to start up that aeronautic prototype as soon as possible.

"We need adequate housing and a way to camouflage and protect three women and two children. I need a list of what Rachel thinks this beast is made of.

"Nadir call in some favors once we have said list. Start procuring materials to be delivered at a site yet to be designated.

"Darius, I want you to research this one horse town. I need to know every means of travel down to the foot path leading to the preacher's outhouse.

"I have an idea on how to use the solar cells and motion sensors I've been working on. We don't know what we will have to face."

Face? Erik stopped, cocking his ear, a strange foreboding started to strangle his stomach. Silence. No minute beeping of a working security alarm.

"Did any of you turn the security system on or off before coming in here?"

Nadir half raised from his seat, "I didn't know it was…"

The Phantom cut him off by running out the door. Climbing the stair case four steps at a time he dashed down the hall. He open the bedroom door and found it...Empty. A lace curtain fluttered in the open window.

Lying on her bed was his rucksack. Damn. His handgun and ammo clip were gone. His eyes widened. Scattered across the coverlet were his pictures and one was missing. The one with a young red-headed soldier and his new bride.

* * *

"Let me talk to Carlotta first, see if she is up to it," Alan requested.

Sari nodded and followed him to the resting Agent. Holding out her arms she offered, "Let's go see if you want to take some of the things in the tunnel with you, Cole."

The young boy once again looked to Carlotta, obeying once he received her affirmative nod.

Alan caught Lance and Summer's attention, jerking his thumb in the time honored motion of 'scatter.' Summer and Lance turned to follow Sari, as did the other agents.

Reyer stayed, a questioning look crossing his sober face. Alan quietly discussed his idea with the older man. Reyer looked down, tongue in his lower lip and nodded. Slapping Alan on the arm, he too followed the others.

Sitting next to Carlotta, Alan closed his eyes appreciating the murmur of the creek. Cricket songs were interspersed with intermittent splashes.

That was the good thing about Carlotta, she could be as abrasive as sandpaper, but she knew when to hold her peace.

"How are you holding up, Old Gal," Alan continued at her shrug, observing her out of the corner of his eye.

"Cole needs protection, but most of all he needs a semblance of normality, a family."

"I agree," Carlotta's dark eyes scanned the pilot's face. Looking down she studied her hands, "I'm going to miss him."

Alan turned and picked up one of her hands, "How would you feel about teaming up with me as his parents?"

Carlotta's head snapped up, her brows furrowed, "As in undercover?"

"If that is what you want," he spoke solemnly, "but I'll tell you right now, it isn't what I would like."

"Why wouldn't you want to be Cole's parents," Carlotta retorted indignantly.

"I don't want to be an undercover spouse with you, Carlotta."

Hurt flashed in her black eyes. Shifting her gaze back down, she murmured, "Oh, I see."

Alan grimaced, "No I don't think you do". Swiveling in front of her, he dropped her hands and clasped her chin. Noticing her downcast gaze, he slowly brought her face to his. With bated breath he drew her lips to his.

His stomach flip flopped at the minute groan in the back of her throat. Several minutes later her head on his chest, Alan stroked the spiky hair tickling his chin, "Carlotta, I don't want to pretend a relationship with you, I want the whole she-bang, will you marry me?"

His arms tightened around her once he heard the whispered, "There was never any doubt."

* * *

Hawke swallowed in shock. She spoke like the inevitable murder was common knowledge. Scrambling to his feet he pulled gloves over his hands. He looked under the bed first.

Twenty minutes later he heaved a weary sigh. He had even pulled up the rug to peer underneath. Gertrude Bell was absolved of complicity as far as he was concerned.

Quietly he covered her up and stepped out into the hall.


	51. Chapter 48 Gone Gone Gone

Forty eight

Gone, Gone, Gone

**A/N Happy New Year Everyone**

Carlotta knocked and the door flew open. Legs pumping, Cole barreled into the Agent knocking her back a step.

"Whoa, scooter," Alan picked him up, readjusting his hold as the boy tried to wiggle from his grip.

"Lemme go, Alannnn. I gotta show Carlotta something!"

Alan stood Cole in a chair, hands on his waist. Carlotta leaned over and wiped the boy's face with a tissue, her accent deepened, "What do you need to show me, little man?"

"My movies," Cole said behind his hand, dodging the busy tissue.

"Ok, show me," Carlotta tweaked his nose. Alan set him on the floor. Looking up the child scowled at him. Cole immediately grasped her hand. Impatiently, he pulled her toward the kitchen end of the tunnel.

Carlotta looked back at a smirking Alan and shrugged.

The damaged kitchen was just outside the double doors. Carlotta caught her breath, she could barely see a mangled refrigerator lying where she last saw the Vandykes.

Cole stopped before the kitchen entrance, pointing a chubby finger to a home made shelf. Carlotta raised an eyebrow, the shelf was hanging precariously on the wall. The blast should have completely dislodged it.

Procuring a knife from her bag, she pried the shelf completely free. Taped to the back was a colorful dinosaur binder. Carlotta tore it away.

"It is a secret only for you, Carlotta."

"Secret?"

"Yeah, Mommy and Daddy said that…that…I would know who to give this to."

Carlotta opened it up to find four DVD dinosaur movies.

"There is a player in the truck, you can watch them when we leave," Carlotta rubbed his head, wearily. The last couple of days had been hard on her healing body.

Tip-toeing, Cole curled his finger to Carlotta, and she stiffly leaned over, "Mommy said the real movie was on the back."

Carlotta narrowed her eyes and surveyed the movies. This was different, the pictures were on the backs of the DVDs. Carlotta looked down into big blue eyes and whispered, "Our secret, Ok."

* * *

Erik hurried down the stairs, "She's gone! Nadir, Shade, start outside. Darius come with me," Darius opened a sideboard drawer. Grabbing a set of keys he followed him out.

Christine brushed the hay from her clothing and hair. Smiling, she thanked the elderly farmer and his wife. She had hidden between two large bales on their hay wagon.

The kindly couple refused her offer of gas money. Thoughtfully, she watched them drive away until they were out of sight.

Thinking of Erik, she grimaced. At least two people were kind to her for kindness' sake. Lately most wanted the benefits of her gift.

She gazed around to stabilize her bearings. Christine's stomach sank. It was going to be hard to leave this small town unnoticed. The only item she had with her was a small plastic bag. Habit ensured she never went anywhere without some kind of plastic baggie to store identification in.

She knew Reyer told her not to use the older cards, but she needed a place to stay. Her father had always taken care of that detail.

Slipping into a small alleyway reeking of garbage, she donned a pair of sunglasses. Christine was glad she had the foresight to change her clothing before she left. Tucking her hair in a woven hat, she entered the nearest drug store.

* * *

Hawke didn't think of himself as a chauvinist, but he sure had his eyes opened the past three days. His middle school teacher used to quote an old adage that 'behind every good man there was a good woman'. He saw the reasoning in that.

But throughout history, there had _always_ been strong, intelligent women disguised as secretaries, assistants and royal consorts. Three different women, three rooms free of suspicious items. Three premonitions of impending murder.

Hawke knocked on the door, bottle of chilled wine in hand. 'What the hell,' Hawke weakly leaned against the door, trying not to stare. A midget! He was to woo a midget! Sorelli should have warned him about this one!

He didn't want to accidentlly insult her, "Betty Watts," he asked, mouth dry.

"Come inside," she opened the door wider. Hawke stepped in, heading for the living room. His glance fell on the bedroom door. He did a double take. It was cracked open and…. a shadow was moving inside.


	52. Chapter 49 Lying Eyes

Chapter Forty nine

Lying Eyes

Nadir and Shade combed the grounds. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Nadir reflected, "You do know we aren't dealing with a novice here?"

Shade studied the third floor window, "Well she does have guts. She climbed down that tree, and was outta here."

"She wouldn't have taken any of the bigger trails. We are so far back in the wilderness she would have zig-zagged to the road," Nadir mused.

"Didn't you say she couldn't heal the boss' face anyway? Why would he want to keep her? It would be a good thing for her to disappear under the grid. Except.. she knows the way here."

"Did you know what he wanted all along? I thought she was a Machaeon spy, wanted by Core." Shade pondered.

"Yes and no. Agent Zane did order her capture. Erik didn't tell me anything else, I figured it out on my own. He hoped she could heal his face.

"There is a bigger issue now. I saw in Erik's eyes something I thought I would never see again since Sorelli."

"Who is Sorelli? What do you mean," Shade tossed Nadir a water bottle and a rag, in order for the elder man to rid his brow of the perspiration gathering there.

Nadir gathered up a garbage sack and stuck it in Shade's back pocket, "We need to look like we are looking for aluminum cans."

Retracing their steps out to the road, Nadir wrestled with one of the Phantom's secrets.

Walking along the side of the road the men looked for footprints.

"Sorelli used to be an Agent for Core. Or so we thought. Come to find out she was a double agent, with allegiance to Machaeon. Sometime in the early eighties Erik and she were thrown together as a team.

"Being the good undercover she was, Sorelli ignored the mask. Never having a relationship with a woman, except my Rookheya, Erik fell hard. She was tall, with long flowing blonde hair and very intelligent.

"Sorelli used it to her benefit. Thankfully, Erik never revealed anything important," Nadir stopped and rubbed his neck, "Just his heart."

"Damn," Shade growled.

"Yeah," Nadir echoed.

"She twisted him in every way, and then disappeared. Not long after, he learned she had inherited the top position at Machaeon."

"So she knows…"

"Yeah, she knows he is a double spy. She keeps it in her 'someday it might be useful, file'. Erik makes sure her information is, shall I say, mostly incorrect?"

"What does that have to do with Ms. Daae," Shade poked around under a small pile of hay, "I don't see anything but where some farmer rode by on a hay wagon," the young man grumbled.

"Erik was looking at her the way he did Sorelli in the beginning," Nadir almost squeaked as he backed away from a snake crossing the road.

"Damn," Shade repeated.

"Yeah. But the strange thing is…she was giving off a strange vibe…Might just be me, I don't meet a healer every day," on that statement Nadir crossed his fingers, "She surely wasn't aware…but attraction floated in the air."

"Crap and double crap," groaned Shade.

The two men noticed a dilapidated car slow down, "Here is some more for you, Hoss," a teen threw a carton full of used aluminum beer cans in front of Nadir. Laughter filled the car as it sped away.

Nadir rejoined with a few foreign expletives under his breath.

* * *

Christine bought makeup and hair coloring along with a pair of scissors. She had sweated it out until the credit card was approved.

Next door was a used clothing shop. Purchasing some over- large nondescript clothing, and a pretty cushion, she walked outside and noted a small movie theatre. A matinee was playing in a few minutes.

Following a giggling family in, she broke off and entered the restroom. Once she heard the booming of the speakers she started to work. Sadly, taking a deep breath, she cut her long curly hair.

Flushing the long strands, she silently apologized to the plumber. The curls she left automatically tightened into curly shag. Donning the clothes, she stuffed the pillow under her shirt. Voila! Instant pregnancy.

Leaving the theatre, blinking in the bright light, she noticed a rental business. Annemarie Likens rented a car and sped east.

* * *

"Did the two of you find anything," the Phantom's grip was tight upon the cell phone.

"Nope, nothing here. Don't guess there were any cars except maybe a hay wagon and a carload of teenaged hoodlums."

Erik's jaw tightened, "Darius and I will drive into town. Maybe she hitched a ride with someone."

For such a small town, they had come up with a blank. Because it was a small town, they couldn't mimic police and ask for surveillance cameras. That would draw unwanted attention.

"Let's see if she rented a car," Erik indicated a small business on the outskirts of town.

Darius walked in. A young woman with a company logo baseball cap sat on a stool behind the desk. She eyed him balefully before popping her gum in a rude manner, "What can I do for you," she asked in an aggressive tone. Before Darius could answer, she raised the blinds and perused the SUV.

"Have you seen…,"

"Look buddy. You should be taking care of your sister instead of buddying up with the dead-head husband of hers."

Darius blanched, "Dead-head," he questioned to himself, "Excuse me?"

"You are too late. If I were pregnant and my husband beat me, my brother would've gelded him."

Darius' head swam in confusion.

"I hope she makes it into Mexico soon. I hope you follow and some Mexican dude sharpens his knife on his privates. Getting hurt in a fire and having to wear a mask is no reason to beat a woman."

An older woman glared around an office door, Darius nodded and exited the hostile room.

Sweating buckets, Darius slid behind the wheel. Swallowing, he repeated what the girl had spouted. He jumped when the Phantom hit the back of the seat with his fist.

Chills ran down Darius' spine, the masked man had begun to laugh hysterically. "It was her. What a story! She made a fatal mistake. Who else, pregnant or no, would be trailed by a man in a mask?"

* * *

The warehouse was in the middle of a long row of storage buildings. The outside looked dilapidated but the inside was pristine and clean. The building had been used for sewing and storing uniforms.

The up stairs was divided into several smaller rooms. Ancient industrial sewing machines filled two of them. Sari nodded in satisfaction, "You can live in these rooms and the lab can be housed below. Plenty of room to manufacture an airplane."

"I'm tired," Cole rubbed his eyes, "I miss Mommy and Daddy and Anya."

Green perused the boy as Alan picked the child up, "I am going to buy some new sleeping bags, young man. What kind would you want?"

Cole turned and looked at Carlotta, "Can I have Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles, so I can be a Ninja like Carlotta?"

Green grinned at Carlotta's surprised snort, "Yes. What would you want to eat?"

"Well, I don't really like them, but Mommy said I needed to eat my vegetables so I could grow up big and strong. So, vegetables would be fine."

Cole looked at Alan and back at the rest of the men, "Alan must not have eaten his vegetables…"

Carlotta loosed her first real laugh in days. Alan gave her a lofty look and replied, "Well fish is brain food and I ate a lot of that growing up."


	53. Chapter 50 Foiled

CHAPTER FIFTY

Foiled

Feeling paranoid, Christine drove about fifty miles. Noticing the time, she decided to drive off the first exit at Harpsburg.

Unwanted tears gathered on her lashes. Oh, how she missed her father right now. Finding the bank she needed, she drove to the automated teller.

After she withdrew all the cash available, she dropped the car off at a rental office. Finding a seedy gas station, she used the restroom to remove her portable baby-bump and change her clothing.

Next door was a used car lot. The owner didn't ask a single personal question, accepting the credit card with a curious lift of his brow. Christine smiled to herself; he was probably hoping she wouldn't ask any questions either.

Before signing the papers she checked all the areas her father had taught her to examine. Crawling out from under the vehicle a scream clawed at her throat. She had nearly rolled over on a swarthy, greasy mechanic who was hunkered down by the car.

Glancing over his shoulder he said in a low voice, "You don't want that one lady. The best one on the whole lot is that Volkswagen Beetle over there."

Christine gave him a questioning look and he harrumphed, "Don't take no rocket scientist to figure you're running from someone, most likely your old man. Most women are scared to come in here.

"Consider it my good deed for the day. You don't need to break down on the highway where he can find ya."

"How…,"

He smiled then nodded toward the beetle, "I saw ya go in the lavatory over at Jasper's. You went in pregnant and came out a movie star. Fastest birth I ever heard tell of."

Handing her the keys he questioned, "Wanna take me for a whirl?"

Nerves tore at her stomach. Did she have a choice? Sliding in the driver's seat she waited for him to shut the passenger door. Starting the car she pulled to the road.

"Take a left, and go one block and turn around back to the right," he pulled his knees up on the dash, "Take it slow so you can remember what I'm gonna tell you."

Christine pulled out into traffic.

"Next town over has a big high school theatre program. See that building by the bridge? It's where them kids buy their costumes and what not. The owner won't remember anyone purchasing different colored contacts and wigs and such. In fact he turns off the surveillance camera if you say the words drama queen.

"He helps with other things you might need, if ya know what I mean. Just say Plato sent ya. He owes me one."

"Why are you helping me?" Christine queried, suspicious.

"Had me a kid sister once, maybe if she knew the ins and outs of things her old man wouldn't have found her and slit her throat."

Christine swallowed, "I'm sorry."

"What's done is done. He got what was coming to him. Didn't last a day in prison.

"Now, most bigger cities have places like this row of businesses, but you lucked out here, sista. If Jason Marz had seen you, you'd be waking up one of his girls right about now. Most every place has their Marz."

An hour later, Christine was amazed at the Costume Store's service. All she had to do was mention drama queen and then Plato sent her and she was ushered to a hidden door in back of the building.

Bob the owner made a complete new identity for her. Driver's license, credit cards, birth certificate and social security number. His wife, Doris helped her color her hair.

"Plato must be a good friend," Christine mused, trying not to gag on the second hand smoke.

Doris snorted back a laugh as she put out her cigarette, "Friend he ain't. He just happens to own this side of town. He likes to check in on his profits dressed like a regular guy."

"Your looks worked in your favor today, honey. Here is some cash. It ain't marked, I promise."

Christine watched the smoke surround the side of the Doris' mouth, turning into a screw it bored a hole into the woman's lip. Christine glared at the fumes tunneling into the woman.

Doris leaned back, startled by Christine's stare.

"Promise me something, Doris. Get that scab on the corner of your mouth looked at, okay? Don't freak out, I'm a nurse.

"Here let me look at it," Christine placed a finger over the screw hole. Having no place to go, the smoke turned into the shape of a coffin and dissipated.

"Yeah, Bob has been after me to do that," Doris ran a finger over her lip, "Funny it seems a lot smaller than usual."

Shrugging, she reached out to pat Christine's arm, "Come look ole Doris up next time you're in town."

It had been dark for a couple of hours when Christine headed toward the expressway.

* * *

"Nadir, take Darius and check for computer records on the car Ms. Daae rented. Check the surveillance tapes too. She has altered her looks."

Nadir nodded as he continued to busily write. The person on the line kept up an uninterrupted conversation. Exasperated, Erik relieved him of the phone.

The security system wasn't a problem, a few wires cut and the two Middle Eastern men were in. Working on the computer, Nadir shook his head in irritation. The employees backed the system up at night. A company representative probably picked up the discs.

It would take Erik only an hour or so to hack the computer for the information he needed. Neither he nor Darius were that skilled.

Darius found a folder and pointed to the only female customer that day. Annemarie Likens.

The security cameras were run straight through instead of on a disc. Smart.

Motioning to the door, Nadir followed Darius out. At least they had a name. It was a start. Nadir sighed. That woman was smart; she more than likely had ditched that alias already.

The two men returned to find Erik pacing frantically, "Do tell me you have good news," he growled in greeting.

"The computer information is picked up and taken to headquarters every night. The security footage is wired straight through.

"We did get a name, Annemarie Likens," Nadir offered.

"Aaargh," Erik growled, "Rachel, Forrest Vandyke and their daughter Anya were murdered a couple of days ago. The boy- Cole, and an Agent by the name of Guidicelli were the only survivors."

Darius grit his teeth holding back his response. Nadir bowed his head, "May Allah be with them."

The Phantom resumed his pacing, "Agent Green is spearheading operation 'Draino'. There is a helicopter heading to pick us up as I speak. Shade is downstairs packing what materials we have at our disposal.

"Ms. Daae's position will have to be ascertained at a later time."

* * *

"Don't worry Mr. Hawke. I am really Betty Watts."

An Amazonian sized woman exited the bedroom. Hawke narrowed his eyes; he had to look up to meet her gaze. Her iron gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun and she wore a black skirt with a white shirt.

"This young lady is Mia Fletch," Ms. Watts waved a hand toward the smaller woman.

Ms. Fletch bowed quipping, "Healer extraordinaire."


	54. Chapter 51 Deep Dark Depression

CHAPTER FIFTY one

Deep Dark Depression

Two hours later Christine felt physically and emotionally exhausted. Once again she exited the expressway. A twenty-four hour superstore sat a little less than a mile down the road.

Untangling her sore limbs from the car, she absently pat the Volkswagen's hood. Plato was right, the car was a keeper.

Once in the store, Christine purchased easy to eat snacks and drinks. Underwear and a couple of mix and match outfits in her size came next. Shoes, toiletries and a small suitcase followed.

Moving on to the electronics' section she purchased a pay-as-you-go phone and a laptop.

Back behind the steering wheel she headed toward a well-lit motel. Once ensconced in her room, Christine gazed at the bed with longing. Instead she forced herself to shower.

Glad the motel had free wi-fi, she searched the recent news articles on the internet. Popping a diet coke, she dug her plastic baggie out of her dirty clothes.

Taking a deep breath, trying to clear her mind, she pulled the picture she had taken from Erik out.

Staring back at her was Gaston. She wiped off a piece of lint. A familiar face wavered before her eyes. The couple in the picture were in love and currently unaware that she was already expecting Connie.

Her heart clenched, why would Erik have his picture? A scarab scuttled across the bed to disappear down the other side.

Christine stared. Within seconds the tips of its antennae appeared. She shifted her weight and they disappeared. She was ready with her shoe when it reappeared.

Not feeling any movement, the bug hesitantly crawled back on top of the bed.

With a lifetime of frustration she swung. Putting her weight behind the swing, she smacked the insect. Emitting a squeal, antennas rubbing its head, the insect backed down the bed, scuttled across the room and disappeared under the hall door.

Thumbing her nose in distaste, Christine returned to the picture. Rubbing her forehead, she realized she'd have to go to sleep soon. Her eyes felt gritty and heavy. Leaning back against the headboard, she lost herself to memories.

* * *

It was unnaturally quiet. He could hear the clink of silverware on metal plates in the mess tent. Rubbing the sweat from his brow the young soldier was glad his turn at patrol was over.

Heading for his quarters, he absently rubbed the laminated picture in his pocket. A comforting habit.

The picture was of his wife. His heart raced with joy, he was going to be a father!

His head suddenly exploded in pain.

Busy with plans and dreams regarding his upcoming discharge, his mind initially refused to acknowledge that he'd been fatally wounded.

He found himself lying on the ground, a metallic odor permeating his sense of smell. Sticky, warm, rivulets were trickling down his suddenly cold cheek.

Christine's face swam in his view. Dozens and dozens of snapshot-like images shuffled by. Her smiles and laughter. The adorable way her tongue tipped to the side of her lip as she kept up with the General in a violin duet. Her hair cascading around him as they made love… Oh, Christine!

A black shadow blocked the desert sun bearing down on his numb body. His only thought was of his darling, his life. He licked his lip with a tongue that felt five times too large for his mouth. "Picture. Tell…love her," he entreated the shadow.

In horror, Christine watched a scarab nonchalantly make tiny, bloody footprints across his forehead. It skirted the gaping wound in the center. She reached out a trembling hand... too late. She could feel his last thoughts rush down her spine with glacier-like intensity.

'It was too hard to think'. Sleepily, he closed his eyes.

* * *

No…No! Christine woke up frantically sobbing. Squeezing a pillow she cried until her eyes were sore. She had no doubt who the shadow was. She knew before the scarab showed up.

She had kissed her husband's killer.

* * *

"Healer?"

"Have a seat Mr. Hawke," Ms. Watts indicated a chair, "Sorry to put a burr under your saddle, but this was the only solution on such short notice."

"I am one of the healers that Sorelli and Dugan kidnapped," the diminutive woman added.

"How did you get in here," Hawke plopped down, amazed.

Pointing to the dinner cart, Mia shrugged.

A slow grin pulled at Hawke's lips. She had hidden under the cloth?

"The kitchen workers go by the healers first for dinner. They stop by here first for breakfast, so she travels back and forth easily." Ms. Watts offered.

"So our plans…," Hawke awkwardly blushed.

"Just because there is frost on the roof, don't meant there's not a fire in the oven," Ms Watts snorted.

Mia giggled behind her hand at Hawke's obvious discomfort.

"I don't want any hanky-panky, youngster, you aren't my type. But it was a good way to get you alone don't you think?"

"What," Hawke felt like an imbecile.

Mia paced in front of the disgruntled brave's chair. "The women you visited are well aware that they did not participate in _that_ particular pleasure, Mr. Hawke."

"Mia found her way here the first day of captivity. Unfortunately this is the only consistent route the dinner cart is taken on."

"The healers are kept in two separate bunkers that butt up to the basement holding cells."

"We are given the necessities but haven't been allowed outside. Every night the construction workers enlarge the holding cells," Mia informed him.

"Hell enlarges her gates every day," Betty muttered.

"Do the other women know that Mia…," Hawke stuttered.

"Of course. There is safety in numbers, Mr. Hawke."

"More leeway for an information leak, though," he answered.

"Our hen parties have been very informative. Sorelli doesn't feel the need to join our card games and we discuss a plethora of subjects."

"But that is neither here nor there. Do you know who I am," Betty asked.

"I'm not a clone. I raised Sorelli who, by-the-way is not a clone. She is her father's daughter."

"I don't understand," Hawke grumbled.

"In the late 1800's a team of scientist were headed to Easter Island. A sudden tidal wave overwhelmed their boat. The next morning the survivors found themselves here, on Easter Island."

"Do you take me for an imbecile? Easter Island has been thoroughly explored," Hawke spat.

Betty sighed, "Not here. This streak of ground cannot be seen from the water, land or air."

"Huh," Hawke screwed up his face, and turned to Mia.

The small woman shrugged, "Don't ask me, I'm just learning the ropes."

"The team of scientists were a multicultural group. Some of the best the world had to offer. There were four child prodigies on board.

"They of course built a boat and tried to leave the island. Time after time quiet seas gave way to tempest and the group found themselves back here.

"Resigning themselves to the fact that traditional methods of transportation were getting them nowhere, they set up Machaeon Enterprises. Together they made scientific breakthrough after scientific break through.

"Then…Mrs. Hefley died. Her husband sequestered himself in his laboratory for years, his work? Cloning. The first person he cloned was his wife."

"During the time Dr. Hefley became a recluse, the children grew up. One from Britian by the name of Watts, came up with the formula for inanimate invisibility."

"Watts? Your husband?"

"No, my brother."


	55. Chapter 52 Alone

CHAPTER FIFTY two

Alone

Gulping in lungs full of air, Christine tried to calm down. Holding her breath until she was dizzy, she then exhaled harshly.

Connie's fate was never far from her mind. What was wrong with her? Everyone she loved met a horrible fate. Her mother, father and husband. She _had _to interrupt the cycle.

This was her _baby! _She had lain awake since the cave imagining using a dull knife on Dugan's privates. She shouldn't have waited for the perfect opportunity; she should have _done something_ to escape before now.

A small voice whispered, if she had continually irritated the Phantom he might have locked her up, or worse.

Days of playing along, holding her emotions in, had finally caught up with her. Pulling at her hair, she rocked on the bed. How was she going to find Connie?

Her father was gone… Core was a joke. Core? If only she could access their files. She snorted. Alot of good that would do. They probably had files that covered the files that covered files... Her mind careened from subject to subject. Angrily she stood up, pressing her thumbs into her temples. She was losing control.

The Phantom. A small head adorned with antennas peeped under the door, rapidly disappearing as she childishly hissed, "I'm glad I couldn't fix his face. Glad, glad, glad!"

* * *

Raoul shook his head to the negative at Connie's questioning look. No one had heard from Hawke in three days. She pursed her lips and nodded. Her chest hurt from the stress of not knowing.

Meg and he had implemented a routine during work. He taught her what to look for in the microscopes, signs of viability in the eggs. He worked diligently on a false set of books. It took him a while to transfer the inaccurate data to the computer.

Sequoyah was somehow able to remove the old books and back-up discs from the lab and store them for later.

Dugan had not had contact with them for days. Sorelli seemed much more relaxed and human when the double agent wasn't around.

One afternoon they were allowed to sit on the beach again. Soaking up the fresh air, Megan softly asked what stayed on Raoul's mind, "Where are the healers?"

Connie, glad of Raoul's presence in Hawke's absence, laid back on her towel, " So many questions. Where are the healers, Did anyone detect the plane? How are the clones manufactured or what ever?"

"There are multiple labs here. Meg and I are in one that deals strictly with hybridizing DNA on clones. Sorelli's group is far more advanced than the rest of the world. We run DNA samples and see what inherited diseases are carried on different strands of the same DNA.

"This is after implantation and grafting has been done in another lab. In very rare instances the disease variable is able to replicate itself and stay in it's original position. These zygotes go to a highly specialized lab to try and break the code of natural cloning so to speak.

"The ideal outcome is for the position held by the original diseased allele to be replaced by a healthy one transplanted in the lab. Somehow they are placing _manufactured_ alleles in healthy zygotes to reinforce the trait they want."

"Yeah, what you just said," Connie grumbled. "It seems with 3-d printers they could just print another person."

Raoul shuddered, "I can see them doing it."

Connie rolled over, "What are they doing with the ones that regrew their original disease thingie back?"

Meg, flipped her braid, playing with the end, "You are right, so many questions. We need a starting point. My first question would be how would we know _someone _saw us on radar? My luck we'd unintentionally destroy any attempt at rescuing us."

The three captives fell silent as a group of guards walked in their direction.

* * *

Spotting Shade right away, Cole ran to a reassuringly familiar face. Placing the box he was carrying on the floor, Shade picked up the child. Nonplussed he pat the child's back when he broke into tears.

Carlotta studied the other three men. Two were of Middle Eastern descent and the other… well the other was an entity on to himself. Almost seven feet tall, the man sported a full mask. He carried himself with authority walking as graceful as a ballerina and... he plain rankled Carlotta's last nerve.


	56. Chapter 53 Duo

CHAPTER FIFTY-three

Duo

Christine couldn't go back to sleep. Walking to the balcony she pulled the curtain back. Blinking, she tried to peer across the parking lot. The side of the building wasn't as well lit as the front.

Leaning against the door frame, she let her mind wander. She frowned. In her peripheral vision she noticed movement. Dark shadows were floating across the asphalt. Straightening up, she watched them circle a Jaguar.

Another figure arrived from the nearby park.

"I said, no," a young voice hissed loud enough to reach Christine's ears.

"Try and stop us. We've done it your way and we're starving," a young male voice answered.

"You'd starve on a King's Ransom, dimwit." She noticed another much smaller shadow joined the figure from the park.

"Whadda trying to say, moron? Keep it up and I'll finish you. Only reason you're around now is because of your sister."

Adrenaline flushed Christine's cheeks. The first shadows had straightened up and circled the late arrivals. Running to her bag of dirty clothes, Christine pulled out Erik's gun and a few rounds of ammo. Retracing her steps she grasped the card key from the armoire.

Saying a silent thanks that her pajamas weren't see through, she bolted through the door. Christine ran barefoot down the stairs.

She opened the side-door, placing a brick to keep it from closing. Hunkering down she made her way around the parked vehicles.

"Come to think of it, I'm pretty tired of her, too."

The two new arrivals backed up as one of the shadows raised an arm. The clouds moved allowing moonlight to glint off a lug wrench.

The 'sister' pushed the smaller individual behind her as the others closed in.

Stalking behind the group, Christine pulled back the trigger.

"Hold it right there."

One by one the shadows stiffened, "You two get behind me," Christine ordered the shadows from the park.

Once the two shuffled behind her, Christine informed the rest, "You heard it, the gun is cocked and it is definitely loaded. To your detriment, it has a silencer.

"My guess… no one is going to report you missing soon. On the count of three if you haven't disappeared into the trees, I'm going to silence you forever." The group exploded into motion.

When the last one disappeared, Christine whispered to the silent forms behind her.

"Duck down, go through the door and hide in the darker side of the second story landing. I'll wait here to see if they come back."

She heard them replacing the brick. Ducking behind the cars she waited. Several minutes later she entered the waiting door. Legs shaking, she climbed the stairs. On the second landing she found the two figures trying to hide in the shadows.

Placing her finger on her lips, she jerked her head for them to follow her. Once inside her room she closed the curtains.

Standing in the bedside light was a teenage girl and a young boy. They were dirty and their clothes were ragged. Pointing to the other bed, Christine told them to sit down.

Digging in her store bag she asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, mam." The younger child answered guilelessly.

Handing them her snacks and drinks, Christine watched them eat. The girl opened the packages for the boy then started on hers.

"Quite the nasty acquaintances, you have," Christine uncocked her gun and emptied the round.

The boy looked up at the girl and asked, "What are 'caintences?"

The sister grimaced then ran her hand over his matted curls.

Christine wiped her perspiring brow with a tissue.

"Do I need to report what I saw?"

"No," the girl exploded, causing her brother to jump.

"Those dummies were Sandy's crew."


	57. Chapter 54 Sanity

CHAPTER FIFTY four

Sanity is in the Eyes of the Beholder

'Sandy' gave the child a hard look.

"What is your name?" Christine asked.

"Brennan."

"Glad to meet you Brennan. I'm Christine. Why don't you ask your sister to take these clean shirts and go take a bath? The two of you can sleep in the other bed."

Handing the clean clothes to the teen, Christine asked."May I call you Sandy?"

The girl nodded her head.

"Hand me your old clothes out and I will go down stairs and put them in the washer."

The expression in the girl's green eyes perked up. Without a word she grasped Brennan's hand and disappeared into the bathroom. In minutes she knocked on the door. The dirty clothes were handed out, ensconced in a plastic bag.

Christine hurriedly headed for the laundry room.

On her return, she found Brennan asleep in the other bed and Sandy still in the shower. Christine sat on her bed and studied the boy, except for being thin, he didn't show any signs of illness.

Rubbing her forehead she couldn't quite figure out where she went from here.

The door squeaked open and Sandy exited the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam. The girl had wrapped a towel around her head. Christine's shirt was an overlarge one from the used clothing store. It hung to Sandy's knees.

Sandy rocked on her heels surveying the room until her eyes rested on Christine's laptop. Walking over, she ran a hand over the top.

"Do you want to log on?" Christine hoped the computer might be an unobtrusive way to get the girl to open up.

Green eyes danced. "Sure!"

The girl took a chair. Within minutes she was in way above Christine's head.

"Wow, that looks complicated," Christine observed.

"I'm shutting down my machines so no one can get into them. I made information clouds that cannot be traced. Some others automatically switch to another option if in danger of being hacked."

"Seems like it would be hard to maintain 'equipment' with a small brother to take care of?"

Sandy's eyes left the screen long enough to frown, "Is that your way of asking if we are runaways?"

Deciding to be truthful, Christine nodded.

"You can call us that. We've been gone almost six months."

Sandy noticed Christine's small intake of breath.

"Yeah, no one cares. I took off with Brennan the night our mother died. Our stepfather had plans for Brennan that I couldn't let happen."

Christine's stomach plummeted, "Your stepfather was into boys?"

Sandy shook her head, "No, all that snake was into was money, his contacts were into boys. I heard him finalizing plans on the night mother died."

Noticing that the girl was closing down the computer, Christine struggled to keep her talking, "So your computer knowledge helped you survive?"

That question drew a blank stare. Christine licked her lips. "Don't be afraid, I am on the run too."

"You?" the girl snorted.

"Yeah, I'm a healer."

"You remind me of one of the nurses that cared for Mom."

Christine sighed, "Well, a nurse or a doctor can be considered healers...but I'm different."

The girl nodded her head, "So I noticed."

Christine closed the laptop, "Listen to me. I can look inside of people and see their illnesses. Then I touch them and _'heal_' them."

Sandy slowly rose from her chair to take a protective stance in front of her brother, "You are a French fry short of a happy meal is what you are."

Earlier, Christine had noticed a cut on the girl's arm, "Let me see your arm."

Sandy slowly held it out. Christine ran her hand over the drawn flesh. It was red, puckered and hot to the touch.

Sandy watched closely as Christine eyes drifted closed as she continued to rub the swollen skin. The girl's eyes widened in shock. The wound pulsated as small white areas popped up. These areas immediately grew metal teeth.

Sandy tried to jerk her arm out of Christine's hand. The frightened teen felt herself grow faint. A coating of concrete encircled and covered the woman's restraining hand. Attempts at moving were impossible.

In a blind panic, Sandy raised a hand to strike Christine, but froze in mid-air. An indigo zipper-pull pushed through the translucent skin on the elbow side of the wound. The zipper of flesh ran the entire length of the wound. Immediately the end curled and rolled up into a ball of flesh. Small bone colored hands stuck out, waving frantically out of the last bit of redness.

The zipper continued to roll taking the hands with it. Christine picked up the garbage can with her other hand. Holding it under the concreted one, she sighed as her restraint turned into powder. The residue fell into the can. Taking a tissue she picked up the rolled flesh zipper. Grasping the motel's complimentary matches, she burned it.

Breathing heavily, the teen had begun to perspire.

"I swear if you drugged my brother too, I will…" Sandy growled, examining her arm.

Christine smiled sadly, "No you weren't drugged. Go ahead, feel your arm."

Sandy cautiously rubbed where there used to be an inflamed wound. She twisted around to feel her brother's head. Studying his peaceful features she then turned around and snarled, "What did you do to me?"

"I told you I was a healer." Christine watched the disbelief settle over Sandy's features.

Picking up a pencil she gave it to Sandy.

"Stab me with the pencil."

"You _are_ crazy."

"Stab me with the pencil and I will demonstrate again."

Stacy raised the sharpened pencil. Christine prepared for the sting.

With a lunge Stacy brought the implement down deliberately missing her target. The pencil broke against the table-top an inch from the woman's hand.

Christine released the breath she was holding.

Sandy nonchalantly picked up Christine's fingernail polish, "So, you're a healer. What does a healer want with my brother and me?"

* * *

The guards stopped in front of Connie. "Sorelli has ordered that Hawke continue to use his new quarters. She is pulling you off field duty. A guard will escort you tomorrow to your new assignment.

* * *

Erik noticed Carlotta's animosity. The rest of the group seemed to withhold their opinions for later. The Phantom furrowed his brows, the angular red-headed woman tugged at his memory…His lips lifted in a half smile. Carlotta was the cretin that systematically destroyed her song in the show Ms. Daae was in!


	58. Chapter 55 Roomies

CHAPTER FIFTY-five

Roomies

Christine could tell that Sandy was going to reserve her opinion for later. Taking a cleansing breath she sighed. There was nothing else to say, she had explained the best she could. It was becoming late, and the teen's eyes were drooping.

Stinging tears welled up. A mental picture of a teen Connie beckoned with taunting fingers. Turning away from Sandy, Christine reached for the light switch. Shoulders tense, she couldn't hold back an errant sniff as a cool hand hesitantly covered hers.

"Thanks," the girl whispered as she slipped under the covers.

Christine adjusted her pillows. She watched with a sad motherly smile as Brennan scooted closer to Sandy's warmth, placing a small hand on her back.

* * *

"What?" Raoul almost shouted.

"They took her about three hours ago, I had no way of informing you."

Raoul surveyed Meg's swollen eyes and red nose. He placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. He _hoped_ he was a comfort to Meg. Closing his eyes, he felt himself tremble. All he could feel was a surge of cold defeat.

* * *

Connie chafed at her bindings, silently cursing the blindfold. The wagon she was traveling in bumped and swayed on ancient struts. She was sure her bottom had picked up at least two splinters. The constant banging against the unforgiving wood wasn't doing her back any favors either.

Why had she been separated from the others? First Hawke, and now herself. Would Raoul and Meg be next? Connie leaned her head against a sideboard in defeat, only to receive a thump as the wagon jarred over a rut.

The guards stopped around noon for a lunch of fresh fruit and cheese. She was untied but still had to wear the blind-fold. Trying to pick up useful information, she strained to pick up the quiet whispers around her.

"We'd be there and back if we could have used one of the motor-vehicles," one of the guards gurgled behind a swig of water.

"You know Sorelli, "We are a small area and do not need unwanted gas emissions. The horses are useful in so many other ways," the other guard mimicked.

"Yeah, like fertilizer," finished his companion. The other guard guffawed in response.

Connie growled in frustration as her bindings were replaced.

No matter how she tried to get their attention, no one spoke to her. There was one silver lining. Zane Dugan wasn't with them. At least she hadn't been subjected to his obnoxious voice.

What had she done to cause the arrogant Agent to be especially acerbic to her?

Connie stretched, her tired brain tried to analyze the slow passage of time. Was it a couple of hours later when the wagon stopped? She desperately wished she had listened to her grandfather as he taught farming implementation to the natives. Donkeys were often shipped in to impoverished villages from other countries to pull plows.

Just like a teen to shrug off her 'old fogie' elders. She had regretted her inattention when the General died. She had been twenty barely a week.

Shrugging off her melancholy thoughts, she tried to calculate how fast a team of horses traveled in a day. Fifteen miles, maybe?

Several hands roughly pulled her from the wagon, half dragging her on numb legs to their destination. She shivered as hot sun beams were replaced by damp air wafting across her skin.

The blindfold was removed. Blinking to adjust her eyes, she realized they were in an underground tunnel of some sort. Her guards nudged her down a ramp onto the tunnel floor.

She was detained in a long corridor with doors on either side. Connie's sore back stiffened as she tilted her head to listen. A wail sounded from one of the doors. A baby? They had a baby in this damp cavern?

* * *

It didn't take long for the upstairs rooms to be turned into living quarters. Everyone had their own room except Cole and Carlotta. Alan hung a blanket across the room affording Carlotta a little privacy.

A drop off point was soon designated for the incoming supplies. Alan watched in fascination as the Phantom set up routers, range extenders and antennas for the digital workshop.

Agent Berkley almost danced with glee, caressing the new state of the art laptop they were all given. Carlotta rolled her eyes, patting his arm she whispered, "Down boy."

A pink blush tinted her skin when Alan turned to her waggling his brows suggestively.

Learning the personal interactions of his co-workers, Erik sighed in disgust. He turned to Darius mumbling, "I feel sorry for Berkley. Maybe he can gag her if she tries to sing. If he doesn't, I will."

Darius picked up a box and slinked off. No way was he going to answer that one. He didn't get far. A metallic crash sounded behind him. Turning, Darius couldn't believe his eyes. Erik was sprawled on his back, legs up the wall. The elegant, athletic Phantom had tripped over a box!

Too bad the mask covered the Phantom's expression. Wondering what caused his graceful boss to trip, Darius looked over the top story railing. A pleased smile split his face, Ms Daae?

"Summmmmer!" Cole ran down the aisle. He nearly overturned Erik again, causing the masked man to wildly skate on several rolling aerosol cans.


	59. Chapter 56 Death and the Maiden

CHAPTER FIFTY-Six

Death and The Maiden

Christine packed her things, placing the children's dried and mended clothing on the foot of their bed. Unable to sleep, she had finished the laundry during the night. She had scarfed orange juice and cereal for them from the Continental Breakfast provided by the motel.

The first rays of morning had found her seated in a chair musing over her situation. A tentative idea had begun to form as she watched the sleeping siblings.

She knew without a doubt that Sandy would not be forthcoming with her stepfather's name, and to be quite frank she wasn't willing to put Brennan back in that situation. The mention of foster care would also send them back underground.

Sighing, Christine wished she was more 'savvy' as Plato called it. She still had some of her older alternate identification with her, thus money wouldn't be a problem for a while.

Twenty minutes later their hunger sated, Sandy was idly browsing on the laptop. Brennan was trying not to wiggle. Christine reminded him once again that he valued his ear. He would miss the appendage if she accidentally cut it off along with his hair.

While Brennan was admiring his new look in the mirror, Christine decided to sink or swim.

"Sandy, just how good are you with computers?"

Sandy lifted a brow, "Only the best this side of Chicago. Why?"

"Brennan said the others were part of your 'crew'. Are there any loyal members that weren't there last night?"

"Once again, Why?"

"How would you like to be part of a team with millions at their disposal?"

"As in dollars," Brennan gasped.

Sandy narrowed her eyes, "I thought you couldn't trust these 'Kontrol' pricks?"

"Max Smart works for Kontrol, Sandy, duh," Brennan tapped his forehead with his hand.

A pink blush rushed up Sandy's neck as she muttered retribution under her breath.

Christine hid a smile, "No, Core can't be trusted. But listen up. I have a recent contact that might be of help. But first we have to establish a safe zone for the two of you if things go wrong.

"How do we contact those members you feel are loyal?"

Fingers flying on the laptop, Sandy spouted, "Okie Dokie Artichokie, done."

Arrogantly twirling in the chair she leaned back with her arms behind her head, "We should hear back in a few minutes."

* * *

Erik wished there was more than one bath. With twelve people using this one it was hard to find it empty. Covering the mirror with a towel, he undressed. He hadn't had the opportunity to bathe since the incident with Christine. Neatly folding his clothes and removing his mask his weary gaze fell upon his forearms.

Normally strong legs gave way. Falling to his knees, Erik refused to trust his eyes. Shaking hands tenatively touched the clammy skin of his arms. Nothing. Hurriedly, he examined his chest, running his hands down his body, legs and feet.

This was it. He had finally gone insane. A lifetime of abuse…gone.

Launching from the tile floor, he tore the towel off the mirror. His shoulders sagged. His face hadn't changed.

Weak in the knees he allowed the warm shower water to cascade over his body. Ecstasy and disappointment warred within his chest. His body was still thin and pale, but with a little weight gain it would resemble any other lanky man's.

The raised scars and missing tissue from his prisoner of war days had been a reminder of his mortality. A constant reminder that it was extremely unlikely that a woman could fall in love with a man imprisoned in a monstous body.

All doubts assuaged, he agreed that Ms. Daae was indeed a prolific healer. But why not his face?

To his astonishment, Erik realized he was actually tired. He needed little sleep to recoup his stamina. Sleep wasn't what it was cracked up to be. Every time he fell asleep he succumbed to nightmares. His life in rerun, portrayed in vivid three dimension. Thanks to his missing prisoner, a whole new set had evolved.

He was used to the horrified screams of European carnage and modern warfare. It was not uncommon for him to take off his mask and allow his skeleton head to be the last thing the enemy saw.

But he now dreamed of decimated Indian villages. In his night terrors he floated high above his victims. Each being doomed before they realized. Burning wigwams and long-houses smoldered as dying braves stained the ground with their blood. Squaws raced from his presence carrying small children in their arms.

Then the scene shifted and he was cocooned in soft, fragrant warmth. Floating upon the air a feminine voice sang a Cherokee love song. His head rested upon a chest whose heart beat in unison with his.

That bliss always switched to a cave. Erik was screaming for the voice to save herself as the ceiling cascaded around them. Worst of all, he never failed to wake to the sensation of soft lips upon his own.


	60. Chapter 57 Strange Things

Chapter Fifty-seven

Strange Things

Erik sighed, how was he supposed to get anything done? Two inquisitive eyes had been watching him for nearly a half an hour from the cracked door. Turning in his chair, he looked down where his nose should be in irritation. Giving his best go away glare, he waited

Instead of being intimidated, the childish orbs lit up, followed by a shy smile. Grown men had scrambled in fear of that glare…Erik stared at the wall in resignation. Unfurling his ungloved hand he motioned for the child to come in.

Cole confidently strolled up to the masked man. Without a word he leaned against Erik's chair. The Phantom stiffened at the child's proximity. Running a hand over his mask, he nervously returned to the booster he was assembling.

Several minutes passed. Erik had started to relax when the inevitable questions started.

"What's your name?"

Continuing to work, The Phantom growled, "You may call me, Erik."

The boy shyly offered, "My name is Cole. Did you know my Mommy and Daddy? My Daddy used to work on stuff like that. He let me watch too."

Erik closed his eyes in shame. The child couldn't have said anything else to make him feel more like a heel.

"Indeed, your Father was an intelligent man."

A few minutes passed. "Can I ask you something?"

'Oh, here it comes!' The mask. Always the mask. Erik tensed. Nosey kid.

"I won't guarantee I'll answer it."

"Do you want me to get Mr. Nadir's glasses? That way you won't have to hold it so close to your face."

Erik placed the screw driver down and raised a hidden eyebrow at the boy.

A laugh erupted from the hallway. Nadir strutted in with his head turned away, an ineffectual attempt at trying to hide his mirth from the conversing duo. "Busted, Erik. I'm not the only one who has noticed your…ah... senior problem."

"Daroga…"

"Come on Cole, Carlotta has been turning the place upside down looking for you." Nadir picked the child up. He exited the door and placed a finger to his lips. He motioned for Cole to be quiet.

Peeping back inside, Nadir nearly burst with laughter. Erik had pulled out a magnifying glass from under a stack of papers.

The police chief suddenly stopped laughing. Frowning he hesitated. Erik hadn't thrown a tantrum… Better still, he had allowed the child to stay with him.

There were strange things going on.

* * *

"You have a baby in here?" Connie rounded on her guard.

Her accusation was met with silence. A taciturn guard unlocked a door, unceremoniously shoving her inside.

Connie banged her fists against the door, in resignation she placed her forehead against the cool wood. Turning she decided to survey her new prison.

Confused she furrowed her brow. A twin bed was shoved up against one wall. Linens were folded in a stack ready to be placed on the mattress. The opposite wall boasted a mural of cartoon characters.

Pink carpet lined the floor. A cushioned rocking chair sat in a corner. Toys lined several shelves. Diaper supplies loaded a changing table. Music softly played from a pink CD player.

Center stage in the room was occupied by a frilly bassinette. Holding her breath, Connie approached the bed. Leaning over she peered at the occupant. A sharp pain gouged her stomach, somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice taunted that she had probably developed an ulcer.

Intelligent, unbaby-like dark brown eyes stared into her own.

* * *

Hawke shook his head in confusion, "I don't want to seem rude, but Sorelli stated Machaeon has been active close to a century…You don't look…"

"Try eighty-five. My brother and I were the first children born under Machaeon care. My mother was pregnant when she undertook that voyage.

"Nothing here is as it seems. For all our combined intelligence, our group, like all mankind, still doesn't know it all.

"Trust is an inherent emotion for humans. So is betrayal. Most of the original group were honest individuals. But just like Cain and Able man's hidden vices began to grow.

"The same forces that kept us here until Mack invented invisibility cloaking is still at work. When Mack first tried out the original plane, WWII was in full swing. Machaeon voted that we would not make ourselves known until the conflict was over.

"While the world tried to annihilate itself our group entered secret labs soaking up any knowledge we hadn't discovered."

"You know it was at least, Corporate Espionage," Hawke intervened.

Betty shrugged, "You could call it Corporate Espionage, I guess. When we learned of Atomic weapons we ventured out less and less. Then one of our pilots became careless and was discovered.

"The soldiers stole on board and ended up here. To stop chaos we entered into an agreement. Dugan is a product of that merging."


	61. Chapter 58 Unbelief

CHAPTER fifty eight

Unbelief

**A/N I would like to thank everyone for putting up with a never ending list of updates. I think the chapters are on the right track. I would like to thank you all for your loyal perusal of this story.**

"Jebster replied, and here comes one from Armando." Sandy scanned the incoming e-mails.

"Have them meet us here," Christine ordered while packing her bag.

Shrugging, Sandy's fingers flew across the keyboard.

Unable to sit still, Christine stared out the balcony window. A knock resounded on the hall door. "Who is it?"

"The family."

Christine raised an inquiring brow at Sandy.

Nodding her head in assent, Sandy opened the door.

Three teens stepped into the room. Stomach dropping, Christine scanned their faces. The shortest one was of Hispanic origin with bulked-up muscles.

"Hello." The tallest teen had long blond hair and a nervous tic. She could see him blinking behind thick, round wire-rimmed glasses.

The third had a shaved head with a dragon tattoo on his upper arm, "Hey Sandy, we thought those jerks had blipped the two of you."

"Si, we weren't sure what you wanted us to do," the Latino answered.

Christine stepped away from the window to find Sandy giving the new arrivals a hip handshake.

"Hello, my name is Christine, and I asked Sandy to bring you here. How much do you know about last night's situation?"

The Latino shrugged, "I'm Armando. I was casing the Supper Club for an easy mark for food. Last night's shakedown has been coming on for a while."

The long-haired blond nervously pushed his glasses back up his nose, "I'm Denver. I was at HQ manning the machines until Sandy shut them down. We warned her to be careful."

The third, waited, arms crossed. "What if I don't want to give my name?"

Christine took a deep breath, "Sandy has implied certain trust in you. Is it warranted? If not, you're safe. You can turn around and leave this room and not participate in what I have to offer you."

Moving his jaw from side to side, the young man started to flex his dragon tattoo. "What's a dame like you doing hooking up with Sandy? You gonna rat her out, making us the freaking collateral damage?" The young man took a couple of steps forward in a menacing manner.

Christine knew she had one shot with this young upstart. Sandy placed a placating hand on his arm but he shook it off, pushing her toward Brennan.

He raised his tattoo covered arm in a fist and Christine grasped it. He expertly retrieved a knife from his pocket with his other hand.

As if dancing a tango, he pushed the lighter Christine toward the wall. Closing her eyes, lips moving, Christine prayed. She didn't hear the others calling their friend off.

"This is what I do. I manage people problems. You lady, are a problem. It is going to take more than prayers to sway me." The young man snarled.

Christine felt a jolt rush up her arm holding the fist. Once again a gray substance encircled her wrist. The concrete hardened.

In amazement the young man stood still long enough to stare at his trapped arm. Christine grasped the hand with the knife. The assailant twisted it toward her weakest point, her thumb. In the process he nicked her palm.

Before he could pull away another round of concrete encircled their combined hands. Rushing between their fingers. As their hands were fused the knife clattered to the floor. Noticing his legs tense, afraid he was going to drop and roll, Christine raised her foot and brought it down on his instep.

The same substance adhered his foot to the floor. Cursing, he bent his head to see what was impeding his movement. Taking advantage of the minute lull, Christine stomped his other foot. It too became encased in concrete.

He emitted a strangled roar. Now all she had to watch out for was biting and head butts.

She noticed Sandy placing herself in front of the other two boys. She pled for Christine's attacker to calm down, "Jeb just listen to her!"

Christine didn't try to make it easy on him. Glaring at the dragon tattoo, she waited until it started to sizzle. Imbedded purple wings began to flap, the emerald tail swishing back and forth under the skin.

The creature's serpent-like tongue flicked and stretched, as a dinosaur-like screech filled the room. Flames and smoke rose in the air, emitting a sulfuric stench from the extended bicep.

"Argggggh, it's burning me!" The frenzied young man pulled and shook Christine's body as he tried to cool his upper arm.

Denver had backed up to the door and slid down in shock. Armando crossed himself in a daze.

Brennan hid behind Sandy and she worried her lip with her teeth.

With a mighty screech the dragon broke free and lifted from its fleshly prison to hover above the humans.

"Sandy, open the window," Christine ordered.

On shaky legs the girl obeyed. The tattoo flapped, flying a circle around its previous owner's head. Spouting flames the reptile sped out the window.

"Hurry, close it," Christine commanded. "Grab the knife while you are at it."

Once the girl had the knife in her possession, the concrete began to break away.

Jeb rushed to the faucet and ran cool water over his arm.

Breathing heavily, Christine let Sandy clean her hand.

Denver stood back up, "What just happened? Are you a magician? How did that tattoo fly off of Jeb's arm?"

Armando offered Jeb a towel, "Here pat it dry." Examining Jeb's effected arm he noticed the skin was as healthy as the other arm, minus the tattoo.

"Are you ready to listen? If not, there's the door." Christine spoke firmly.

Rubbing his fingers across the skin, Jeb glared at Christine. "What did you do?"

"Do I have your word we won't have a repeat of that behavior," Christine queried.

Jeb glanced around at his comrads. Armando shrugged, as Denver nodded to Sandy.

"Are you going to let us go if we think there is trouble going down," Jeb baited Christine.

"You are free to go at anytime in the next few minutes. You forfeit your right to freedom once you have heard my proposition. You will be detained, and the nearest police station informed of your whereabouts. By the way you won't remember what happened. I have more than concrete up my sleeve." Christine held her breath hoping he would fall for the bluff. She would hate to take Denver's notepad away from him.

Jeb narrowed his eyes, Sandy nodded a definite yes, Armando once again shrugged, palms up, and Denver was writing his observations in his notebook.

"Spit it out." Jeb growled.

"A tattoo is a type of permanent injury to the skin. I am a healer. I simply rid you of the permanent injury."

Jeb turned to Sandy, "What have you gotten us into?"


	62. Chapter 59 Really?

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

* * *

Really?

* * *

Connie picked the baby up. Walking over to the rocking chair the confused woman sat down with a huff. Tiny dark eyes blinked as a diminutive star-fish hand rubbed sleepy eyes.

Beside the chair a round table held a folder and an antique pink-glass table lamp. Reaching for the folder, Connie read 'Feeding, bath, sleeping, and play schedules.'

Once again Connie's stomach protested. Of course all babies look similar, but this one…this one could be a replica of her own baby picture. Fear skated down her spine. Did Sorelli have enough time to implant _her_ DNA into this hapless infant?

Gently rocking she noticed the room was comfortable and warm, the temperature not at all reminiscent of a cave. Looking above her head she noticed four vents. Maybe negative air-pressure conveyance systems used in hospital isolation rooms?

In one corner she noticed a floor lamp. Above the lamp on the wall was a sign stating, 'sun lamp storage area.' A closed door was recessed beside it. Connie blinked, perhaps the bathroom?

The sweet smell of a baby wafted up to her nostrils. The child had nuzzled into Connie's shoulder, sleeping soundly. The child had grasped Connie's blouse, and it was curled up in her little fists. Humming softly, a lump formed in her throat. She felt homesick for her own mother's voice.

* * *

Lance shifted his position on the warehouse roof-top. Summer was on the west side of the roof watching out over the docks. His woman amazed him with her special reconnaissance and observation skills. She turned into a different person behind those specialized optics. The Latino scratched his head and smiled, a definite reminder never to get on her bad side.

Thank goodness for Shade and the older man, Nadir. The extra manpower enabled them to work in teams. He wished they could work in sniper/spotter teams to reduce eye fatigue. But it couldn't be helped. He had worked short handed before.

He resisted the urge to check on Summer. Now he had intimate knowledge of why couples didn't work together, his fear for sweet natured Summer kept him on edge.

Lance had relieved a stoic Alan three hours ago. He didn't envy his friend who had the dubious pleasure of partnering with the Phantom.

Lance frowned. He didn't like the way the masked man kept eyeing Summer over dinner last night. The strange man better be just thinking she looked like Ms. Daae!

Carlotta had taken over receiving special merchandise. She had reluctantly agreed to the Phantom's suggestion that she take Cole with her. She felt like it set the child up in an even more precarious position. The purpose was to go to the grocery as a deceptive family unit and and pick up their equipment.

The mother and son pair went shopping while Darius and Reyer slipped the packages into her mini van. They never patronized the same grocery store twice. Carlotta drove inland on the same road each day, then turned and took different routes back to the warehouse.

Alan studied the footage from the vehicle's hidden cameras. So far no one had followed. He insisted stubbornly that the food she had purchased be swept for bugs.

Later that evening Alan and Carlotta entered the blanketed off area that served as a kitchen and lounge. The large windows were shuttered and a small lamp illuminated the area. Tired agents relaxed on bean bags.

Cole grinned, asking if he could take Erik his pizza and drink. Carlotta watched him climb the stairs and knock on the man's door. She couldn't understand Cole's infatuation with the masked man. The Phantom never failed to set off her enemy radar.

"Son of a gun," Alan groaned a few minutes later. All eyes turned toward the disgruntled pilot.

He turned his lap top screen around. There was a stunned silence. In brilliant colors were nine pictures. Theirs. One faceless picture was included with the Phantom's description. In the corner grinning widely was a picture of Cole. Side by side were pictures of Summer and Christine.

The orders stated that the women were to be captured along with the child. Bold lettering advised 'shoot to kill' the men on sight.

"I hope Green and Sari saw this," Darius leaned back in disgust on his seat.

"Erik would you come down here pronto," Nadir spoke into his cell phone.

* * *

"Well, young man, the way Mia and I have it figured is... that you like your women a tad older." Betty blushed looking anywhere but at Hawke.

Hawke didn't consider himself a stupid man but he stared at the older woman in consternation.

"When there is something you need to know, I ask for your…ah…services again." Betty took a large swig of water.

As understanding dawned on Hawke's face, Mia tried to hold back a cackle of mirth, "If anything goes down with the healers this plan enables you to know about it a few hours later instead of days or not at all."

Gathering up his things, Hawke stopped. He'd better make sure he wasn't being played for a fool, "How do I know you are a healer, Mia?"

The small women nodded wisely, "Do you have any tattoos, scars or birthmarks?"

Hawke thought for a few minutes, "Well, my lip was split during the attack on Jackson Man-Bear." He pointed to his mouth.

Mia climbed up on a chair examining said lip, "Piece of cake. You got anything harder?"

Hawke felt his face heat up, "No, ah, wait! I lost a tooth in the fracas."

"That's more like it." Mia motioned for the embarrassed brave to open his mouth.

Feeling like a horse, Hawke stood still while she examined his teeth. Nodding, Mia asked Betty for a piece of gum.

"Sugarless. Oh well can't have everything," Mia quipped.

Opening the wrapper she gently blew across the gum, "Here place this in the empty socket."

Rolling his eyes, Hawke complied. "Am I supposed to chew it?" He grumbled around the cinnamon strip.

Mia sighed, "How else are you going to get it in the socket? Is it me, Betty, or is this fellow a blond?"

Chewing the gum, Hawke grumbled, "Blond jokes are so out of style not to mention tasteless."

Betty snorted, "Just chew."

In minutes he had a decent enough wad to cram into the socket. Tapping his foot he waited. He was going to lose it if they were playing an elaborate trick on him. After all, he had witnessed the real thing from Nurse Daae.

Minutes later his eyes widened. Hawke rushed to the garbage can to hurriedly spit the gum out. Grasping a full carafe he downed several glasses of water.

"Smoking!" Mia had crowed in a mock hip voice.

His mouth still felt warm but Hawke stood still. Tentatively he ran his tongue where the socket should be. Sure enough he sported a brand new tooth. Rushing to a mirror he examined it in awe. "How did you know I didn't want a gold one?" he quipped.

Betty groaned and threw his things at him. "Out young man, you need your beauty sleep."


	63. Chapter 60 A little Bit of Luck?

CHAPTER SIXTY

A bit of Luck?

Erik took one look at the screen and threw his glass against the wall. It shattered, spewing ice across the concrete floor.

Nadir pinched the skin between his eyes. He would have to remind the Phantom he was still a Machaeon agent, and could possibly seek refuge with that group.

Nadir tried to stop Cole, whose wide eyes radiated confusion. The Daroga reached out and missed the sad child as he practically ran by him. The boy sidled up to the Phantom, grasping his hand.

Nadir panicked, prepared to protect Cole. Years of intimate knowledge flared like a beacon at how Erik stiffened and reached toward the child's throat.

Sighing, the older man relaxed. The Phantom had only intended to chuck the boy's chin.

Summer and Lance had instantly sent coded questions upon hearing the crash. Ryer kept a cautious eye on the masked man and quickly answered their questions on his laptop.

"What now, Boss," Darius asked glumly.

"It is not an ideal situation, but we can guard ourselves. Ms. Daae is out there somewhere unaware of her increased notoriety," the Phantom gritted as he relinquished Cole to Carlotta.

Leaning, arm propped against the wall, Erik stated grimly,"This means we need to double up on research time before we are found."

Carlotta leaned down and whispered into Cole's ear. He smiled beatifically, nodded and hurried upstairs.

Alan gave a thumbs up to Carlotta, "Good thinking."

Reyer pulled on a jacket. Pointing to Darius he ordered, "Our turn." Looking over his reading glasses he spoke in an icy, firm voice. "I expect a full report on why you kept information from your team, Carlotta, Alan."

Alan looked down, ears red. Minutes later Lance and Summer arrived. A somber Cole slowly climbed down the stairs, dinosaur binder in hand.

Nadir picked the child up, hugged him then sat him down by Carlotta.

Carlotta looked around at the group, "Cole remembered this binder full of children's movies back at the VanDyke ranch. His parents told him he would know who to give it to.

"I forgot about it until last night and told Alan about it. We were going to look them over and report in the morning."

Erik sized up the couple in question. "We need to see those DVDs but Cole needs attention from you Carlotta."

Carlotta nodded her head. Standing up she grasped Cole's hand. "Fill me in later, Alan."

A saddened group watched the limping ninja and small, suddenly quiet boy ascend the stairs.

"Come up stairs, my computer has a new program which your lap tops do not," The Phantom held out his hand for the binder.

In Erik's work room, the agents gathered behind his chair.

* * *

Jeb stared at Christine and spoke succinctly, "She is a wack-job. Have you all been listening to her?"

"What about my injury and your dragon tattoo," Sandy queried.

"It won't hurt to check it out. We can always call the shots on the safe-haven," Denver thought out loud.

Armando nodded his head thoughtfully to the affirmative, "What do we have to lose if we control the safe house? It isn't like every one of our pictures haven't been plastered on milk bottles before."

Heaving a great sigh, Jeb ground out, "For your sake, Sandy."

"This Plato is a wanted criminal right? What makes you think he won't double cross us for possible monetary rewards?"

Christine blew a curl off of her forehead. She was no good at this, "Plato is about my height with graying blonde hair and green eyes. I am hoping to dress you up Sandy, and remind him of his murdered sister."

"Oh. No_. No!"_ The young men cried in unison.

"My original plan was to take a picture, but with digital picture software, I don't think it would have the same effect. He won't fall for it."

"Just think guys, more money than we could ever dream of," Sandy looked pleadingly around.

"Denver, if he agrees to help, your genius will help keep tabs on them. You can also help me hack. Armando is the best grifter ever, and you Jebster can handle the thugs."

Christine suddenly sat down, placing her head in her hands, "What am I doing? Nothing but corrupting a group of innocent juveniles. Here let me give you guys some money for your trouble and just forget I said anything."

"We are far from innocent if you don't mind me saying so, Ms Daae," Denver said in a placating voice.

"How much were you going to give this Plato for helping," Jeb asked.

"I need Denver and Sandy to do some research here to find out what he is possibly worth. If we do get a reward for capturing an international criminal, he may want a hefty chunk. I personally don't want anything other than my daughter and friends back."

"What makes you think he'll go for financing our search?"

"I'm not sure," Christine sighed.

"Armando, I need you and Jeb to go shopping with me. We all need new clothes, hair styles and a new vehicle."

Armando grinned toothily, "Sweet!"

"Do we make contact with our network?"

Christine gathered her purse, "The same rabble that was here last night, Sandy?"

Looking sheepish, Sandy dug her toe into the carpet, "Those guys were just back-up. We actually have made a nationwide network of hackers and grifters. Most are like us, runaways."

Christine looked each teen in the eye, "Remember if we are caught, before Plato can hide us, I may get captured by Core, but you all will find yourselves in a juvenile hall. If not worse."

"Zane Dugan, here we come," crowed Sandy.

* * *

Connie spent the day with her young charge. Her dinner tray arrived about six- thirty. She caught the arm of the guard before he exited the door.

"What is her name, where are her parents?"

The guard looked into Connie's concerned eyes and shrugged, "Parents? She doesn't have any. Her name? Clone D3.


	64. Chapter 61 Epifani

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE

Epiphany

"Well, Hawke I am speechless." Sorelli sat back in her chair.

Hawke leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, "For?"

Sorelli massaged her forehead with her forefinger, "I was flabbergasted when Betty Watts asked for you. But… ask for you a second time?"

Hawke detected a small quiver in the woman's voice. Uncrossing his arms he studied her. He narrowed his eyes when an epiphany burst in his brain, "You're her niece aren't you?"

Sorelli made a moue and snapped, "Makes me wonder what kind of pillow talk you participate in, Hawke."

Hawke turned a chair around, sat down and straddled the back. Resting his arms on the rail he waited for her to guide the conversation.

"What?"

"All this cloak and dagger stuff isn't what you want is it," Hawke murmured.

"Well, you definitely don't know me, Mr. Hawke," Sorelli stood up and looked out the window.

"No, but I've met the woman who raised you. And every woman I have encountered muses that you would rather things be different around here. They hint at a military state if not for you."

Sorelli ran her tongue over her teeth, a nervous habit that Hawke had noticed before.

"Well, it _is_ this way, and I have to be ahead of the game," Sorelli snapped.

A heavy silence hung in the air. Hawke watched the older woman wrestle with her emotions.

"It's Dugan isn't it," Hawke observed.

"You know nothing," she hissed.

"To keep this inlet secret, your predecessors sold their souls so to speak. I get it. But lady, if you don't mind me saying, only you can hang on to yours."

* * *

The next morning Connie accidently overheard voices outside the door. It was reminiscent of a Nurse's report. She now knew for certain that the room had a hidden cameras. The bassinette must have leads that recorded heart rate, respirations and temperature fluctuation.

This little baby was extremely important. Connie nicknamed the child, Dee.

If they had morning report surely there was an evening? Once she had placed Dee down for the night, she picked up a basket full of diapers that had been delivered. The actress sat against the door and started to fold.

It wasn't long until she heard a deep voice, "Come on sugar we're in the loop. The cameras can't see us."

A frosty feminine voice answered, "Sergeant I am here to take care of D3. Not you."

"Aw, come on, you don't buy into the 'ask Sorelli first and screw later' theory do you? I'm an old hand at dodging that order."

"If I wanted that particular pleasure, I wouldn't be standing in front of client doors discussing it."

"Oh, so you want to discuss a rug-rat from an ignorant family that doesn't recognize that she is one of their own? You'd think the twit in there would know that she is looking at a replica of her own grandmother."

Connie felt numb. Surely he just didn't say…grandmother?

* * *

Reyer was angry. Trying to reel in his temper he looked into the infra-red spotter. Nothing.

The sounds of the ocean soon soothed his ire. Rubbing his balding head he sighed. Carlotta was out of her element. The ice cold, calculating ninja-agent had thawed. When this had happened he didn't know.

Suddenly he straightened up. He had noted changes not long after meeting Ms. Daae...No. Couldn't be. She'd know wouldn't she?

A snap sounded beside an adjacent warehouse. Reyer turned the spotter just in time to see a shadow move in the alleyway. Stiffly he crawled around the pitch, to hiss at Darius. He dared not use the transponder for fear of being heard.

Darius had heard it too. Reyer motioned for the younger man to stay put, then turned to climb down the gutter.

Almost thirty years of stealth did not abandon him as the older man entered the other building. Sharp turns of back and arms swept the weapon around the darkened interior.

It would not be hard to cut the shadow off. He was right outside the back entrance. Mustache twitching, the agent listened to muffled curses as someone dialed a cell phone.

Squeezing through a loosely chained door, the agent stuck his gun in the shadow's back. The African American teen dropped his phone with a clatter. Without urging he lifted his arms.

"You'd better tell me why you are here. Or before I shoot you, I'm gonna stick my foot so far up your behind that the water on my knee is going to quench your thirst."

"Man, I was only waiting on a delivery," the boy whined.

"Such as," Reyer questioned.

"Mary-Jane."

Thinking quickly, Reyer snarled, "Well someone tried to board my yacht tonight, and you're the only flunky around."

"I ain't tried to board no man's boat, I swear," his voice held a quiver.

Reyer thoughtfully assessed the situation. The kid was too nervous to be doing any spying, he could practically smell fear radiating off of him, "Tell you what I'm going to do. I won't kill you if you leave now and make sure your homeboys know the boats are off limits. I shoot to kill next time."

"Yessss sir."

"Run." Reyer didn't have to give the order twice. Leaving his cell phone on the ground the teen took off.

He found the others in the Phantom's workroom. Tossing the phone to Alan he gave a brief description of what had just gone down. The Phantom sighed. Reyer was right, they couldn't attract attention by doing away with a possible teen trespasser.

Erik went back to the computer. The DVDs were encrypted. It might take him all night to break it. An image of soft brown eyes swam before his face. No matter. With images like that-he wasn't likely to sleep any way.

When did he start to worry about anyone other than his crew?


	65. Chapter sixty-two Realization

Chapter Sixty-Two

Erik stood up and stretched. How had life led to this moment in time? Where did his plans go wrong? At this very moment he was supposed to be wooing a beautiful singer, sporting a new, handsome visage.

Life always stalked him with claws drawn. He could have explained away the scars on his body once his face was no longer such an abomination.

Hearing a note from his computer he typed in another sequence of digits. His mind returned to his previous problem. Thanks to Zane Dugan a little boy's family was dead. His stomach did a flip-flop. Why did Dugan want Ms. Daae?

He knew personally that Sorelli was a determined woman, it didn't fit that she had given the Machaeon agent so much power.

Dugan had acquired the only thing to lure Christine out of hiding…her daughter. Erik grimaced, the Machaeon agent hadn't stopped there, he had also absconded with her best friend and…a sick feeling stirred the masked man's psyche…and her lover.

A violent knock resounded on his door. "Come in," he groused.

Berkley walked in, his head obscured by his laptop screen.

After a few tense minutes, Erik growled, "Out with it, Berkley."

Placing the computer on the work desk, Alan glanced up at the Phantom, "I found these signature doxies on several benign websites. Feral hackers have been bombarded with S.W.A.T. teams who raid their businesses and homes to overturn fake kidnappings.

"For the most part, our perps are dumping frivolous malware into Federal law agencies as decoys. They are good. Not one attempt tripped state of the art sensors.

"The point being...to make police and federal groups reticent on responding to kidnappings. Even Amber Alerts will be scrutinized for possible cries of wolf," the Phantom finished for him.

"Yeah. If Christine Daae is picked up in broad daylight, it will take longer than usual for the law to respond," Alan nodded his head.

Out of the blue, the Phantom asked, "Will you continue my work on cracking these DVD's?"

Alan nodded, "You have an idea who is responsible for the decoy spyware?"

Erik sighed and began to pace the room. His hands were clenched together behind his back, "My gut feeling is Zane Dugan, a double agent from Core with allegiance to Machaeon."

Alan screwed his eyes shut for a second, "He disappeared when Connie Daae et al did."

"A message was left for me back near Landon Heights. A picture. One of Connie Daae, Raoul De Chagny, and Meg Giry restrained on an airplane. At first I thought he had made a mistake, Dugan's reflection was picked up on the windows. But the more I think about it, the more it seemed to be a taunt."

Alan leaned against the wall, booted feet crossed, "You said that before. What are you really concerned about?"

Unused to brusque questioning, Erik immediately turned around. Noticing Alan's mild manner, he took a breath, "I couldn't see a wing. I could see stars above Dugan's head but behind him was a darkened dead space. I've used every program I can think of and not one of them picks up anything in that spot."

"Invisible. Just like the 'rock' we found near the casino."

"Which reminds me, the cultures should be back today," Erik logged in on a second computer and quickly located another program, "No results yet."

"I don't mean to sound self-serving, but I can handle the lab work. Won't your efforts be better spent on finding Christine?"

Erik looked guiltily away, "It is my fault she isn't safe with us. Before she left she found a picture I have held onto for over twenty two years. It was Ms daae and her husband. One of my first targets assigned from Machaeon was..her husband.

Alan rubbed under his nose and looked down to the floor, "Isn't that a crock. This whole strange case keeps getting worse and worse.

"I hope this doesn't anger you but the VanDykes had informed us of your double agent status. Thought it might relieve some stress not having to keep that bit of news concealed around us."

Nodding, Erik turned to Alan, "If Nadir and I leave it will make your sniper shifts longer."

"Yes, it will. But in my humble opinion if Christine is here we will have the key to finding the others.

"In turn we can work with the group searching for the moles in Core. We need to find a way to lure them out."

Alan carefully placed a hand on Erik's shoulder, "If anybody can worm their way into Machaeon. You will. Think on it. I'll go see how breakfast is faring."

* * *

Hawke stood up ready to exit. Sorelli quickly placed a hand on his arm, "Dugan. I had you look for anyone abdicating to Dugan's cell."

"Cell," Hawke raised his eyebrows in question.

"I'm not sure how much he suspects, but I am aware that he has been planning a coup when we finally have the DNA subject Machaeon has been looking for.

"My sources say he is looking for the perfect soldier and the perfect healer. The two together would be virtually unstoppable. He would replicate the DNA until he has an army of soldier, healer teams."

"I'm pretty sure how many he has working for him here, but no clue as to out there."

Hawke heaved a sigh, "He has access to a world of insurgents and terroristic cells."

Sorelli shrugged a shoulder, "A smart militant I am not. If I were, I wouldn't have discussed it with you."

* * *

Connie listened to the baby giggle as she blew a raspberry on the child's stomach. So far every couple of days she had been allowed outside with her ward to enjoy the sea-laden air.

Escape never left her mind. Looking down into the stroller she realized that now escape by herself would never be an option.


	66. Chapter 63 Setting the Game up

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Setting up the Game

**a/N Im sorry but I added a plot hint to the previous chapter. Thank you very much for reading!**

Giving up on sleeping, Christine padded into the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove. Hot chocolate sounded good. Hopefully it would make her drowsy.

Loosening the muscles in her neck she reminisced on the past few days.

Tracing her way back near the Theatre Shop, she had rented a small house by the river. Her group of teens had grown exponentially. Sandy, Brennan and two other girls shared the bedroom next to hers. Armando, Denver and Jeb shared the basement with five other young men.

In two weeks the living and dining room had transformed into a Dr. Frankenstein's pleasure palace. Cameras studied every window and door, others whirled and blipped while recording the outdoors.

Sitting down, Christine yelped as a metallic, "Watch it!" sounded from her chair seat. Sighing she placed the tarantula 'bot' on the floor. It huffed in a tin-can voice and scurried into the living room.

Sipping her warm drink, she tried not to think about the meeting with Plato in the morning. Sandy's team, using a copy of her voice, had seamlessly contacted Doris and Bob and set up the time and place.

Her mind wandered to the vivid dreams that woke her up covered in perspiration each night. Older Indian women flashed by, each holding a hip-bone from a White-tailed deer.

Inside the concave bone there seemed to be reddish clay. As if she were experiencing an out of body moment she watched the elderly, gnarled fingers slather clay on a statue that quickly took on the form of a beautiful woman.

Inevitablely, Christine watched the golden, watery sunrise illuminate the artwork. Her head in fog, Christine realized the statue was her!

A myriad of hands dressed the clay maiden in a white fringed buckskin dress. Exquisite quill work adorned the yoke and hemline. Shells were tied to the fringes emitting a delicate tinkle in the wind.

Knee high white moccasins decorated in the same motifs were placed on the statue's feet.

A headband with an eagle feather completed the ensemble. One of the women sat cross-legged and picked up a loon bone flute.

Once the sun had crept up to illuminate the statue's face, the women picked up small wooden bowls decorated in geometric symbols. The younger woman started to blow a plaintive, soul searching tune upon the flute.

As if colts springing from the starting gate the women broke into a dance.

Christine watched in wonder as elderly limbs twisted and writhed to the yellow-orange fire that now leapt, stretching mesmerizing fingers toward the heavens. The hot flame crackled and sparked, blending into noises that resembled voices of bygone ages.

Ha..Na…yi…ya…O Great Spirit! One by one they threw the contents of their bowls on the fragile statue.

Listening, arms outstretched, palms up, her face raised toward the sun's warm rays, Christine understood ancient, whispered words…Beauty of soul, pleasing looks, purity of heart, strength of the grizzly bear, unselfishness of the female wren, endowed with love from the 'Great Spirit, the wisdom of the coyote and owl, and the grace of the swan.

Her eyes always dimmed into tunnel vision. When her head cleared she was surrounded by the elderly women. She always woke up when she noticed the white fringes feathering across her fingers.

Loosing a yawn, she washed the cup in the sink. Absently rubbing her upper arms she headed back to bed.

* * *

Erik and Nadir had combed the yard and for a mile up the road. No sign of Christine Daae. Of course after so many weeks they didn't expect to find anything. It was a starting point.

Nadir made sure his seatbelt was fastened. This car never failed to remind him of the Batmobile. If the gadget had been invented then this vehicle had it. He could almost swear it had a jet engine. Looks were definitely deceiving. On the outside it resembled any other high end car.

Erik had traded his hoodie for a long black jacket and fedora. He didn't intend on blending in. He wanted to intimidate. Knowing the road was barren for at least five miles, to Nadir's chagrin, Erik put the pedal to the metal.

In town the two men split up and searched the various offices and stores. Entering a small movie theatre, Erik heard two irritated voices. Sliding into a janitor's closet he listened.

"There goes any profit we make this month. Kids! Not a one has any respect for personal property anymore!"

"The plumber said it looked as if someone had cut every strand of hair off and stuffed it into the toilet!" Another voice groused.

Smiling, Erik waited until they passed and proceeded to search for Nadir.

* * *

Stepping out of the steamy bath, Raoul almost came unglued. Sitting on the side of the bed eating his breakfast was a midget!

Tightening his grip on the towel encircling his waist, Raoul gritted, "Can I help you?"

Grinning, sipping on hot tea, Mia patted the spot beside her, "Be nice to me Doc. It took me eighteen hours to get here. The other healers are holding the bag on my disappearance."

With a longing glance at his disappearing breakfast, Raoul heaved a sarcastic laugh, "Help yourself."

Picking up his clothes he returned to the bathroom and shut the door with a firm click.

Minutes later the blond doctor exited fully dressed. The small woman was pacing the floor.

"About time Doc, they'll be here with the dining cart before long." Taking a piece of paper from her bra she gave it to Raoul. She continued to pace as he read it.

"By the way, My name is Mia. I'm a healer."

Searching the tiny woman's face, Raoul held his breath and unfolded the paper. He would like to think his mouth didn't fall open in surprise.

'Connie on western side of inlet. Caretaker to clone D3.' Hawke.


	67. Chapter 64 Unseen Circumstances

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Unseen Circumstances

Sandy popped her gum nervously. She looked over to find that Ms Christine was trying not to wring her elegant hands.

Oldies music drifted sedately from antique looking speakers. The teen curiously took in the décor and the sudden disappearance of the waitresses. She noticed a man in a jean jacket sat in the shadows at the bar. The bar tender nervously shined the same glass with his stained apron over and over.

Nothing looked like it did on television. The restaurant was neither a dive nor a five star penthouse. By the front door a noisy family enjoyed their meal.

Unobtrusively an older gentleman slid into the seat by Ms. Daae. Seconds later another slid into the chair to her left.

Too late she realized that she was trapped between his wiry body and the wall. He noticed her observation and lazily grinned.

She smiled back confidently, concentrating on the bug Denver had placed in her camisole.

Swallowing, Christine introduced herself and Sandy. The older man at her side held his hand out to the teen, "Plato. That clown by your side is Rex."

A pale waitress brought drinks. Sandy noticed to her disappointment that she and Christine had been given soft drinks.

Twenty minutes later, Plato leaned back in his chair and gave Christine an incredulous look, "What do you take me for, eh, Christine?"

"I don't expect you to believe me. Find the hospital of your choice, stay with me and tour a cancer floor. Go to the canteen with me and wait for about a half hour?"

Sandy tried not to roll her eyes. Christine's attempt at bravado fell flat when her soft voice trembled.

Absently chewing on a toothpick, Plato glanced at the man in the shadows. Sandy noticed his gaze shifted to the back where another figure was leaning against the kitchen door.

"Oh, we'll check your story out, that's a given. I had no idea my gift of information on what car to buy would have dividends. My question is...what did you expect to barter our services with? You're both scared, though the kid is pretty good at hiding it. It looks like you are a run of the mill dame and a runaway. But, we all know looks can be deceiving."

"The chance at millions legally."

Rex snorted.

"What makes you think I'd be interested in anything legal? What makes you think I won't turn on you and give you up to those FBI wannabes? Despite the bugs the two of you have on, Rex here can make you disappear in less than fifteen minutes."

Running her tongue along her bottom lip, face and neck flushing, it was Christine's turn to lean back, "It won't make you stop doing anything illegal but you would have a legitimate multi-million dollar business to front your other activities. You won't double-cross us because it would have a negative impact on your other acquaintances.

"I know you have a reputation to hold, but within minutes of this meeting a double cross will be on every digital apparatus known to man," Christine kept eye contact with Plato.

"Those are just a couple of reasons. But once you see that I am on the up and up, you won't be able to help yourself. Under your tough exterior, Plato, you actually have a heart. You will be helping several mortally ill patients and I suspect will take my team under your wing, when the business starts to fly."

Tossing his toothpick onto his plate, he leaned in to Christine, "You don't play nice when in a pinch."

Lazily running his eyes over Sandy, Plato suddenly narrowed them. "The hair is the only thing the girl has in common with my sister. Her time with her jerk of a husband aged her." Studying the woman beside him, he grimaced, "I take offense to this little sham. I'm not stupid, and I realize you wanted me to think of her."

"Let us find a hospital and get this over with." Plato started to rise from his seat; Christine placed a hand on his arm. Pulling a wrinkled photo from her pocket she handed it to the man.

"This is my daughter and my two best friends. Look in the window. If any of your guys see that man be aware my team has orders to abort and regroup. He is Agent Zane Dugan from Core."

Flicking her gaze to Sandy, Christine felt a shard of guilt creep up her spine; everything was now on the table, except for alerting both groups to another menace, The Phantom.

* * *

"We were starting to run out of ideas on how to hide your disappearance, Mia," a chunky bald man spat.

Mia shrugged, "You've been cooped inside a compound for too long, Tom. It takes a while for the 'normals' to get a grip on things."

Before the irate man could respond, a knock sounded on the bunker door. The residents quietly scattered to sit on chairs and on the floor. Picking up a hand of cards, the man called in a bored voice, "Come in."

Barrow surveyed the mellow group. Curtly gesturing for a spindly man to vacate his chair, Barrow sat down and crossed his legs, "I'll get to the point. You are all aware that after living here for x amount of time it is impossible not to leave samples of your individual DNAs. While helpful, that isn't the main thing we are after.

"We certainly don't have any money," Tom groused.

Barrow examined his nails, "Since we do have access to your DNA, there isn't any kind of incentive to keep you alive is there, Mr. Mouth?" With a flick of his wrist, his fingers encircled a knife.

Lowering his eyes toward the floor, the florid healer swallowed back his next comment.

"I know the government kept you 'patsies' locked up pretty much of the time, but I do believe, I really do, that you all are of aware of one Ms. Christine Daae. Must get under your skin that she is allowed to be free, while you serve a life sentence for just being different."

Barrow's ire raised a notch. Nothing. Each and everyone had on their poker face. A cruel grin flashed across his rat-like features. Snapping to his feet he grasped the youngest there, a girl of about twenty.

Grasping his knife he coldly growled "Seems you are bored. Here is something to keep you busy," In a quick upward motion he slashed the young girl's face from the corner of her mouth to her cheek.

Ignoring her scream and the gasps of the others he shoved her into a wall and nonchalantly snapped his knife shut. "I'll see you all tomorrow."


	68. Chapter 65 Through Me A Change

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Through Me A Change

Plato watched Christine approach the nurse's station, arms loaded with flowers. He shook his head. She was a chameleon. She had tucked the hair of her bleached white wig under a large summer hat. Several curls peeped out on her forehead and neck.

She had donned an outdated pair of glasses and he had assisted her in placing a fake mole on her chin. Her tailored suit and flat heels made her age hard to discern.

He noticed the nurse behind the desk smile and nod her head. Waiting to offer Christine his arm, Plato swallowed. He would much rather face the mafia than enter a sickroom. He didn't realize he was a germophobe.

One by one they visited; Christine serenely offered words of encouragement, tender touches and heartfelt prayers. Families that insisted loved ones hadn't moved in days, hugged her with tears when patients opened their eyes.

"That is six, we better go or one of the employees is going to make us," Plato leaned over to whisper in Christine's ear.

Earnestly looking into the man's concerned eyes she gave a wistful smile, "I can't offer reprieve to just a few, Plato. How do I leave anybody in this kind of shape," She waved her hand over an emaciated human form.

Plato sucked in his breath, waiting for the worse. Peeping his head out the door he noticed that the nurses and aides seemed to be working in slow motion.

The last room visited, her arm tucked in his elbow, the strange pair boarded the elevator.

Three floors down they disembarked and disappeared into the staff restrooms. Five minutes later a young blonde and her balding grandfather strode in search of the cafeteria.

Sitting down to flavored water the pair spoke in low tones.

"I grew up Catholic, you know. What you do is almost blasphemy," Plato ran a finger under his suddenly constrictive collar.

"It is written that there will be the gift of healing, Plato. I just happen to be one of the people it was bestowed it upon. I can't tell you of the times it has weighed upon me and I have begged for it to be taken back. It is a gift and a burden. I am naught but a tool."

"What about your mother and grandmother," Plato queried.

"Maybe one of my ancestors did something admirable," Christine shrugged, "I gave up trying to figure it out a long time ago."

"We don't have to go back and check," Plato murmured, "I saw the results while in the room." All his life he had considered himself a brave man. He tried not to pay attention to the goosebumps running up his spine.

Standing up, looking furtively around he ordered, "Let's get out of here, and I will start making arrangements."

* * *

Tom wiped his perspiring forehead. He thanked the powers-that-be for his comrades. His specialty was working with animals in detecting diseases. There weren't any animals in this buried bunker. He felt utterly useless.

His gaze cut to the worried, tiny woman, Mia. She couldn't do anything for new wounds or diseases. A gangly man by the name of Klaus was able to stop the bleeding but unable to cure the cut.

A bleached blonde by the name of Gloria had pulled out a black needle and silver colored thread from a pocket inside her clothing. Running it through her fingers she sewed the gash together.

He watched in satisfaction as the edges of the wound drew together into a tiny line. The girl was too young to be saddled with a scar like that.

"Mia, in a couple of days you can make this go away," Gloria grunted as she tied off the last stitch.

"How are you feeling, Xandra," Klaus asked as he handed the girl a glass of orange juice.

"Revengeful," Xandra picked up a reflective pan and examined her face.

"Oh crap…crap," An older man by the name of John exclaimed, "The cameras! They've actually seen what Klaus and Gloria can do. They now know at least one thing the rest of us _can't _do."

Gloria looked each one of the group in the eye, "It isn't as if they don't have our life histories on file. Being held at different compounds is a disadvantage we need to overcome. We need to know what one another can do and work as a team."

Holding her aching jaw, Xandra agreed.

"I can sew up gashes and reattach limbs with this needle and thread," Gloria started. "Klaus you obviously can stop bleeding, is there anything else?"

Klaus rubbed his white beard thoughtfully, "I can rearrange platelets in a Petri dish, but have never had the opportunity to study if I can do it inside a living creature. How a lowly high school science teacher learned that, I don't know."

Tom groused, "My specialty is working with animals to detect human conditions, find cadavers, and hidden humans. I was a policeman once. They have let me out to help law enforcement before."

"I am a mentalist. I can guide the human mind to help itself in most situations," John spoke up. "Gloria responded before I could sift through the shock clouding Xandra's mind."

Xandra flushed, "I'm still not sure. It has something to do with muscles becoming hypertrophic and for a very short time ten times stronger. I just found out about it when I was in Physical Therapy school."

A tiny Japanese woman by whose name was Ming, leaned over and examined Xandra's stitches, "Does it hurt? Acupressure and ancient Japanese medicine is my specialty."

A brunette with dark glasses, felt around for Xandra's hand. "Even though I am blind, I see malevolent spirits trying to attack the body."

A young teen male leaning against the wall snarled, "I'm the fastest ambulance driver in the world. I could be winning NASCAR races and Core captured me and locked me up with you fine people."

The blind girl lifted her head and looked in the direction of the young man's voice. "Don't be angry all the time, Roy, it will not help you."

Huffing, Roy gritted, "Did I ask for your opinion, Alice? Go back to wonderland."

* * *

"Only twenty more rental car lots to go in this county," Nadir sighed.

Erik looked over at his friend, "She was in this town, Daroga."

Nadir shook his head, "Just how do you know that?"

"Death is always aware of the Maiden."


	69. Chapter 66 The Prison of my Mind

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Prison of my Mind

Erik shrugged, "When Ms. Daae tried to heal my face I had a vision. By her reaction I think she saw the same thing."

Nadir twisted in his seat to watch the Phantom speak, "That's different. You aren't known for visions. Please tell me you aren't delusional."

The Phantom snarled, "Indeed. Nightmares are the only thing suited to monsters."

Nadir sighed, this wasn't an argument he wanted to get into right now.

"What has this ah…unusual effect on you, Dooms tam, "Nadir spoke softly.

"I saw a Cherokee couple, he handsome and she very beautiful. In fact, she greatly resembled Madame Daae. Erik isn't familiar with such things, but the couple seemed to be intimately connected.

If he had a nose the nostrils would have flared. "A stench of death rose like a mist and clouded the air. Then out of nowhere a raven attacked and destroyed the brave's face," Erik jerked a finger toward his mask, "It ended looking like _this_ abomination.

"Ms. Daae backed away and I saw it! I saw the horror in her eyes. She witnessed the same scene. She looked at me with _pity_, that's when I realized my face was the same."

Wet rimmed, dark eyes flashed in his consciousness. "I couldn't sleep last night and decided to do some research. I stumbled upon an old Cherokee legend regarding an evil brave by the name of Kalona Ayeliski.

"Ruthless. He destroyed villages, pitted enemy against enemy and ravished the women at whim. Young, old, the man didn't care. He seemed to be supernaturally unstoppable.

"The elder women of the nation met deep in the Appalachian mountains. They sculpted a beautiful maiden to lure Kalona to his death. They imbedded her with all that was good.

"It didn't work out completely in their favor. The Great Spirit was going to entrap the brave in a cave-in deep within the bowels of the earth. Sentenced to traverse a dank, dark labyrinth for all eternity.

"The wise women didn't take in consideration that the maiden's heart was so good she couldn't leave him to die alone. A preliminary rumble caused boulders to fall across the entrance. Before Kalona could react to save her, she kissed him.

"He picked her up to shield her with his body from falling dirt and rock. The earth stopped quaking...then Kalona heard it. The angry shouts of a mob. The villagers were pursuing him.

"There was an opening at the entrance she could have squeezed through. To distract him she kissed Kalona a second time.

"The mob had found their trail. The weakened cave ceiling couldn't take the jarring of the running villagers The top caved in.

"Once the dust settled, Kalona found he was able to fly out through a small crevice in the form of a raven. He became the Cherokee counterpart for the Angel of Death. The Maiden stays in the rubble and he revisits her after he has taken a soul, lured by her voice."

"Why does he take her the souls," Nadir asked, intrigued.

"He hopes to gather enough good souls to barter for the Maiden's life. Poor man will never have enough to equal her sacrifice."

"Does this vision have anything to do with Christine's disappearance?"

"Yes," Erik's answer was clipped.

"And?"

" We argued. I was angry, thinking she deliberately refused to heal my face. I thought she didn't want to heal me because of what I am. Didn't want to heal me because of what was revealed in that vision.

"I was wrong. The results of the Barakam torture prison are gone. My body looks like any other man's. She evidently does not have the ability to heal my greatest shame, my face."

"Erik, that is huge," Nadir mused, "That has to figure in somewhere. I hope we find her soon."

"Nadir doesn't know everything yet. In the early nineties, Machaeon gave Erik a target, a test of my loyalty.

Nadir noticed the man had started to talk in third person, a sure sign he was stressed.

"He should have died immediately. Instead, he said to tell his wife he loved her." Erik balled his fist and hit the steering wheel. "On nothing but a fading brain stem... that young soldier remembered this great… love. Out of curiosity I took a picture out of his pocket."

Nadir slapped his hand to his face, "It wouldn't happen to have been in your rucksack? The one she dumped out?"

"Indeed. It was her husband," pulling his wallet out of his coat pocket, he tossed it to Nadir.

Brows furrowed, Nadir opened it. One lone picture stared out. One of a young Christine Daae holding a baby, an older man and a native.

"Taken not long after I did away with her young man."

"She is going to do everything in her power to stay hid from you," Nadir mused.

Pushing on the pedal, Erik added, "Making herself more vulnerable to Dugan."

* * *

Plato watched the last resident leave the run-down apartment building, "They are all on the big boss' roll call. Unless they have a death wish, no one will say a word about this forced eviction.

"The police have been here time after time looking for meth. I don't tap that. Some laundry, maybe. We can work here right under the nose of the law. The old car factory will be empty in a few days and we'll move."

"Mr. Plato?"

Plato turned around to Sandy, "Our guys have hacked into Homeland Security's surrogate lab. Here is a list of the most current labs making cloaking devices."

Plato took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Raising his brow he snarkily groused to Christine, "Youth. They think they are invincible," turning to Sandy he snapped, "Homeland Security? Really?"

Denver stepped up and placed a hand on Sandy's shoulder, "No disrespect sir, but it isn't the first time," the young man's blue eyes looked steadily into Plato's.

Tipping his hat, Denver guided the miffed girl to the car waiting for them. Christine shook her head ruefully.

"I would have thought young Jeb," Plato mused, tapping the file on his fist.

* * *

"What in the world is going on, Agent Sari, all of my contacts have been shut down. We need those materials."

A harried voice answered, "Agent Berkley, there has been someone hacking into the exact suppliers that you have been using."


	70. Chapter 67 Revelation

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

Revelation

Holding her hand to her mouth, Mia tried not to yawn; she was in a precarious position. Hiding for eight hours had turned her muscles into tight, aching bands. She dared not make any big movements to relieve them.

She checked her watch. It was finally close to time the guards changed their rounds. Not for the first time during her life she heartily wished she was of normal size.

If she was as tall as Gloria it would be someone else standing here in this darkened corner. Forget being tall, if she wasn't a healer she wouldn't be here on this forsaken inlet at all.

The crunching of multiple boots upon the shell walk warned her to flatten against the wall. She must blend in with the shadows or her mission was of naught.

The sound of timed breathing reminded her that these soldiers patrolled the whole Machaeon territory.

Guns at right shoulder arms they passed by without noticing her. Mia shivered. These men weren't Sorelli's. Faces blank, bodies at attention, they were Dugan's fighting machines.

Taking advantage of the dust wafting from the crushed shells, Mia shuffled across the lawn to the laundry. Silently she blessed the volcano that made the inlet an underground expressway of caverns. One of those tunnels resided under the laundry.

Quickly opening the door she immediately spied the laundry chute. Opening the door she peered inside. The underground fissure was slick from decades of use.

Scrambling through a nearby stack of material, she found a small laundry sack. Sitting on the edge of the chute she wrapped herself in the bag.

Mia's nose itched from the overpowering scent of detergent. She prayed she wouldn't sneeze. With a tiny grunt she pushed off.

* * *

Meg pulled a load of Connie's pants from the dryer. She glanced through her lashes at the clock on the wall…any time now…She jumped at the resounding solid bump against the laundry chute door.

Nonchalantly rolling a basket in front of the chute, she opened it to roll a bag in to the basket. Stacking the rest of the laundry on top of the bag, she took a deep breath and knocked on the hall door. It opened as a stony faced guard stepped aside.

Perspiration trailed down Meg's back. Her legs felt wobbly. Raoul's words became her mantra, 'Stay cool, calm and collected, stay cool, calm and…"

* * *

Hawke knocked on the office door. He had discussed his idea with the others. What did they have to lose? Raoul had thought it heartening that Sorelli was checking the women for alliances to Dugan.

"Enter, "Sorelli's voice echoed.

Hawke opened the door to a frazzled looking Sorelli. Normally pristine blonde locks were falling from her chignon. Her hands were splotched with ink.

He surveyed the room. Every file in her cabinet was stacked haphazardly on her desk.

"You may go," she ordered his guard.

Scratching her forehead, Sorelli sighed, "What now, Hawke?"

With a flick of her hand she indicated that he close the door.

Hawke perched on the arm of the extra chair. He hoped his timing was right. It was now or never.

"Sorelli what would you change if Dugan weren't dictating your leadership?" Raising a hand he indicated for the woman to let him finish.

"And…if the opportunity presented itself would you rid yourself of his presence?"

"You have no idea what you speak of, Hawke," gritted the irritated woman. "Not only that, but you endanger the life of everyone on this inlet."

Hawke decided to push his luck all the way. "Sorelli, answer me honestly. The clones. Would you have so many languishing, wishing they had their own lives, or would you surround yourself with living breathing beings in possession of their own souls?"

With an exasperated growl, Sorelli threw down the file she had been perusing. "Hawke, I am actually close to sixty years old. If I did away with cloning would I not be cutting my own throat?"

"You would find a way to further extend human existence without cloning the whole being," Hawke shot back confidently. "There are multi trillion dollar cosmetic and plastic surgery conglomerations in the states alone."

Sorelli raised a finger and narrowed her eyes. Taking a small electronic box from her bag she stood up and made a sweep of the room. Shaking her head, satisfied she sat on the edge of her desk.

"Betty has a way of making one search their soul, eh, Hawke," she wryly mused.

Hawke waited.

"I would the island be as it were in my father's time, before the World Wars."

"You know, if they weren't coerced, the healers would probably be glad to help you find what makes them tick, "Hawke mused.

"What of your group," Sorelli queried.

"We would help all we could under the premise of medical ethics."

"Tell me then, Mr. Hawke. What would you do?"

* * *

Two days later under the watchful eyes of Sandy and her crew, an electronics' lab bloomed in the old apartment building.

Midnight on the second day, anticipated shipments started to arrive and were stored in empty apartments.

* * *

A secluded farm outside of town proved to be Plato's main residence. What actually looked like dilapidated deer stands along the graveled drive held armed guards. Plato pointed out men in the hayloft window and one hunkered down by the running windmill.

Feeling the need to be formal tonight, Plato hosted dinner. The women found gowns in their bedroom and the young men suits. He announced he was grooming an investor for their 'business'.

An older man with salt and pepper hair joined them at the table. The meal passed smoothly. Mr. Laubheimer was most amiable to Plato's request.

Christine felt awkward. Louis Laubheimer III could not tear his eyes away from her over dinner. Her dress was a discrete cut blue silk with a boat neck and couldn't possibly be deemed risqué.

To her relief, a dark suited man entered the room and whispered into Mr. Laubheimer's ear. Shortly after, the man declined dessert, stating he had an emergency to attend to.

"Gee, I hope we didn't say anything to offend him," Sandy mused looking down at her lap.

The teen's hair shone in the chandelier light, while her little black dress made her look older.

Christine couldn't miss the appreciative looks Sandy's team had given the girl. Brennan had looked on proudly at his older sister. Christine was glad that Plato had insisted the boy dine with them.

The nurse was not u aware that the last few days Plato had been watching Christine interact with the teens and his recruits. He had observed she was nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

"Do you not trust me to keep you safe," he asked.

Christine's face flushed red, all faces had turned to her. "I have not been able to trust anyone, Plato. I fear I have given you all a reason not to trust me though."

Plato sat back and waited, indicating with a wave of his hand for her to continue.

Christine sighed, I don't trust the government including the program called Core. I certainly do not trust the group trying to find me as we speak. But there is another reason, one I trust less than the others. Have you ever heard of a man called Phantom?"

* * *

Reyer and Darius watched from a concrete drainage pipe as several boxes were wheeled into a semi-tractor trailer. Satisfied, nodding his head, Reyer indicated they retreat back to their vehicle.

The semi started up unaware of being followed.

* * *

Nadir listened while Erik tossed and talked in his sleep. Nightmares were not an unusual occurrence for the Phantom, he had them since he was a boy... but the noises he was emitting tonight were to say the least, unsettling.

The Phantom's glorious voice roughened into primitive chants, rising and falling. It rose climbing up to a falsetto, sounding like a caw. Fingers curved like talons as he clutched at the covers. Wadding them up he pitched the quilts off the bed. Heart breaking cries of 'Anyi' intermingled with soul felt sobbing.

Nadir was tempted to brew a tea to calm his friend down, but decided against it. The Phantom needed all his faculties... now more than ever.


	71. Chapter 68 In the Heat of the Night

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

In the Heat of the Night

"There has been an upgrade of activity to stations Loge.01 and Loge.02. In accordance with this data our 'ears' have picked up coded messages from none other than Core headquarters."

Dugan sat mulling over the information lying on his desk. His right-hand man, an ex Chinese military advisor, stood at attention.

"It is no surprise that Core's foundation links have discovered our counter-intelligence."

He steepled his fingers. "I had hoped we would keep that team busy following our dead end trails for a while yet.

"The removal of the Vandykes should have placed a shortage on accessible parts. After all, Forrest Vandyke invented ninety percent of the newer models. Somehow, Core was able to reestablish manufacturing with very little time lapse. Interesting. The Vandyke prototype was to be an exclusive one, and nowhere near ready to assemble.

"Fang seems to think the missing Core Agents are redirecting the parts," the Chinese man spoke succinctly.

Dugan rubbed his lips with his fingers, "I know of only one person that could have broken the code to those storehouses. We have made security the highest priority. Our man in Homeland Security has some explaining to do. Replace him.

"Never the less, if we clean house now, these security breaches can be easily sealed. We cannot have so much as a blueprint lying around. Evidently the couple trusted someone with their secrets. Our survival depends on anonymity, and no one else has a totally invisible cloaking device at their command.

"Find those rogue agents. Find the Vandyke brat. Find the Phantom, and for the love of Mike... find me Christine Daae," Dugan snarled.

* * *

"Nadir there is a target trying to hack into all free range private stations in this area. The major television and radio broadcast stations have been on observation for over a week. Evidently whoever it is has narrowed their search."

Nadir, typed in a code and his laptop started to scroll columns of numbers. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the Phantom stand and start to pace. He rubbed the dirt off the corner of the only window in the room and peered outside.

"She is aware I am close, Nadir."

"Is that a bad thing? If she bolts this time maybe we can intercept her."

Erik whipped around and withdrew his lasso, "Is there something you aren't telling me old friend?"

Nadir's eyes widened, "I don't know what you mean, Erik."

Slowly on unsteady legs the older man rose to his feet. He instinctly placed his right hand at the level of his eyes.

"Erik has noticed how close the Daroga and Ms Daae were," the Phantom stood straight, his muscles coiled to strike like a threatened cobra.

"Umm…that's part of it, you know? Good cop, bad cop…"

"Wrong answer. Erik has known Nadir for a long time. The Daroga has a secret. He has shared it with Ms. Daae. One that he wishes Erik not to know. This makes Erik believe he _should_ know.

Reaching in one of his pockets, Erik pulls out several packets. Throwing them on the counter he looked back into Nadir's eyes expectantly.

"Just some herbs I found, nothing more."

Erik circled Nadir, "What kind of herbs?"

"Sleeping root, that is all Erik."

"Erik left Nadir alone and borrowed the university lab. These herbs have been genetically changed from their original form.

"How does Nadir explain that?"

Eyeing the hand with the lasso, Nadir let his shoulders drop. A lifetime trust was teetering on a precipice, "Rookheeya and I decided it was in your best interest not to know, Erik."

"Go on."

"You know that Machaeon and Core have been trying to locate a rogue healer for years now?"

"I am not stupid. I have known for years you are that healer, Nadir."

"You're not? I mean…you're not."

The Phantom didn't acknowledge the older man's slip. "You are too good with plants to just be a hobbyist, Nadir. Not so good a liar…

"What has caused you to drop your façade and start altering now? I know there is nothing your expertise can do for my face or…" Erik reached out and poked Nadir's stomach, "Rookheya would have quit feeding you until you did it."

Nadir took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead, "With all the known healers except Ms Daae under Machaeon's thumb, I thought I had better have an arsenal under my belt to assist you and Ms Daae with."

"Why did you not let me know you were aware of my status, Erik?"

"A man is entitled to his privacy even if he is an old fart, Daroga."

A slow smile split Nadir's swarthy face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. He reached out and gave Erik a punch on the arm.

Erik's eyes dilated and he brushed off his jacket, "This doesn't mean we are going to pick out curtains together or anything, Daroga," he groused dryly.

* * *

"Beanie to Flyboy. We are in route in a northwesterly direction. I repeat North West. We will send coordinates when we land."

Darius pulled the beanie from Reyer's head, "Who came up with those obvious names? Beanie…and Flyboy for Alan? Sounds like comic book characters," Darius scoffed as he kept Reyer from reaching the maligned hat.

"All the normal,_ adult_ sounding names were taken," Reyer's mustache twitched, "Give me that back before you draw attention to us."

"Yeah, headlights from the car behind us would beam off that head of yours, and every satellite and space will see it." Darius snickered.

* * *

Hawke walked back to his room in a fog. Sorelli caved too easily. He needed to talk to Betty. Hawke felt a blush start behind his ears. There were rumors galore about his frequent visits to Betty Watts.

* * *

Alan carefully shoved out from under the fuselage he was working on. The material was light weight and the slightest pressure would ruin the light beam refraction thus invalidating the cloaking mechanism for those few centimeters.


	72. Chapter 69 Closer

CHAPTER-SIXTY NINE

Closer

Seagulls screamed, careening over the incoming waves. One particularly brave bird flew between Raoul and Megan, barely refraining from entangling in the model's breeze ruffled locks.

Hawke sat breathing deeply of the sea air. If he closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was on vacation…_almost._

Unbidden, Connie's laughter teased at his ears. Dejectedly he tossed the twig from his mouth into the tide. Dang, if he didn't stop this he'd go crazy. Somewhere out on those community gardens he had fallen in love.

Large violet colored eyes floated cross his closed eyelids. For a sought after new star, the actress was down to earth and refreshingly naïve.

The entire time they had worked together she hadn't dwelled on her looks, taking sunburn, broken nails, and wind chapped cheeks in stride.

He had found her quick wit awe inspiring. Connie's compassionate nature made her a thousand times more alluring than any woman he knew. For a brave who had missed the marriage noose so far, he was playing with fire now.

He had tried eavesdropping, failing to overturn any clues on how to reach her. His only hope was the clones and maybe eventually the healers.

Slowly he clenched his fists; he could only pray that Dugan had stopped using Connie for a whipping boy.

Turning to the older couple beside him, Hawke cleared his throat, absently pulling his long black hair into a pony-tail. "What concrete facts do we know about our situation?"

"Dugan masterminds the darker side of this inlet and Sorelli is losing her foothold," Raoul said thoughtfully.

Megan dug her toes into the sand, looking up, her blue eyes sober, "Dugan seems to have a vendetta against Connie while desperately wanting Christine at the same time."

"Clones can only be revived three times before the DNA deteriorates. I haven't actually talked to any of them but they seem to fear the end of their collective existences," added Raoul.

Hawke tossed a piece of jade colored sea glass from hand to hand, "I have talked to several women. Most resent wasted lifetimes learning to be someone else. Some don't even like their original donors as persons.

"There is one of my contacts who will be giving Mia a list of clones who would like to see Dugan deposed." Hawke spoke as he gazed across the waves.

Megan sighed, "Mia definitely is one brave woman. How did you find her, again Hawke?"

Hawke looked sheepish, "My assignment to ah…well, you know…was actually a front to spy for Sorelli. She wanted to see if any of these women had allegiances to Dugan. Mia happened to be waiting with one of them."

"We know who the real man is," Raoul teased.

Ignoring Hawke's snort, Megan abruptly changed the subject, "I wonder why no one has tried to find us," her voice suddenly hoarse.

Hawke didn't miss how quick Raoul was to wrap a comforting arm around the teary-eyed woman. After all, the Doc and Megan were together almost twelve hours a day. It was only natural for them to become close friends.

Turning away, his heart feeling like lead, Hawke whispered Connie's name.

* * *

Reyer brought his binoculars down in shock, "Turn your optics to that truck parked in the alley way. Hone in on the passenger. Don't use the gun site but use the nano-camera."

Darius frowned but obeyed. He adjusted the optics and followed the truck as it started from the alleyway. He raised his head up in surprise and quickly refocused.

"No way..."

* * *

Nadir felt like a thousand pound millstone had been removed from his neck. Somehow the lack of resentment Erik showed rankled him. It was a bit anticlimatic. He had been afraid of a temper explosion of epic proportions for decades.

He had spoken of Nadir's healing gift as if he were talking about the weather. The other man had changed. Mostly for the better in his opinion.

A worry niggled at the back of the Daroga's mind. If the characteristics that made the masked man such a formidable enemy had been altered, could Erik be the fighting machine they had all relied blindly upon? Change one variable of the equation and the out come could not stay the same.

Nightmares were nothing new. Since the Barakum prison camp, Erik had always suffered from them. What of this Angel of Death stuff?

Nadir glanced out of the corner of his eye. The Phantom had been driving the riverside streets for over two hours now.

The masked man would pull over and close his eyes, body stiff as if on hyper-alert. Could he really sense Ms. Daae? Of course, according to the lanky man beside him, it was the brave that was aware of the maiden.

Maybe it was time to retire for both of them.

* * *

"Enter," Dugan growled.

His taciturn right-hand man saluted and placed a missive on the desk. No words passed between them. Dugan tore the envelope open and his eyes widened.

"Have the plane readied immediately. Make sure all the medical cases are stocked. Extra ammunition and firearms and you, my good man be ready for anything. Alert me when the plane is readied for flight. Have the helicopter rendezvous with us.


	73. Chapter 70 Backflash

CHAPTER SEVENTY

BACKFLASH

Nadir sleepily furrowed his brows. What had awakened him? The transponder! Squinting at the electronic screen, he sighed, there were several missed notifications. All of them from Shade. Scrolling the screen several times, Nadir frowned. Shade hadn't left any contact information.

Absently running the device up and down his leg, Nadir questioned the need to wake Erik. Couldn't be helped. It wasn't like Shade not to use their prearranged codes.

Standing by the old water company's decrepit office entrance, Nadir peered in on his friend.

Sighing, he wished Rookheeya could share this moment with him. The Phantom was actually snoring softly, one arm thrown over his head. No indication of nightmares.

Rookheeya had worried incessantly about Erik's sleeping habits. She mothered the street urchin her husband had brought home as much as Reza.

Nadir watched as the tall man's breath patterns changed, he was becoming aware of Nadir's presence.

Calmly raising both hands to the level of his eyes, he waited. Any second now…Nadir caught the catgut that encircled his head.

"Daroga, do you have a death wish?"

"You have become slow in your dotage," Nadir answered, tongue-in-cheek.

Erik growled as he untangled his noose from the ex-policeman's wrists, "I thought _I _was the insomniac."

Nadir placed his transponder in Erick's skeletal hand.

With a muffled curse, Erik gave it back to Nadir, then began to pace.

* * *

Sorelli surveyed the moldy niche she was standing in. She found relief in the knowledge that Betty Watts hid behind a limestone boulder above the narrow entrance.

Mia was ensconced behind a haphazard stack of old driftwood behind her. She wished she could have included some of the guards, but the fewer who knew of this clandestine meeting the better.

Cracking her neck, she felt for the stun gun in her pocket. The signal from Hawke was due at any moment.

Her eyes drifted to the white capped waves gently rushing to shore. The ocean was so beautiful, an alluring siren who refused to look or act the same. She was a deadly force to be reckoned with: unfortunately even more unreliable here in this particular coordinate where fantasy and science melded together.

What about this area of the globe made it invisible, and a fact known only to a few, slowed down the aging process?

Sorelli idly thought of the people she had associated with on her various missions. Not one would deign to believe tales spun from the eccentric, paltry handful of beings that inhabited this inlet.

Legends of a salty sea air thick as pea-soup, concealing a jealous mistress would be laughed off as strait-jackets were applied.

Making a moue, Sorelli thought of her father. He had dreamed of reuniting with the rest of humankind. Goosebumps ran up Sorelli's spine. Those dreams were shattered by Dugan.

The castaways had worked, always with rescue in mind. The advent of WWII had made them cautious. With due diligence they had not been discovered. The group would wait until the other continents stopped trying to annihilate each other, and make contact.

The fateful day had begun like any other for the young Sorelli. She was finished with her school work and was gleefully pestering her father in his lab.

They both stood still. There it was… the blip warning the inlet that the invisible plane was ready to land. That one blip was all the warning they had. There was never a visual.

Racing out, Sorelli had been the first to the craft. The door opened and a uniformed man grasped her around the waist and placed a gun to her head. The pilot and crew members disembarked hands up, followed by more soldiers.

They had never planned on being invaded. They were scientists on an island unable to be seen by human eye. The group had become complacent. There had been no way to warn the others.

The soldiers geared up to go wild, desire to loot and conquer palpable on the air.

Dugan's word was law. He stilled the men, determined to use these new resources to their full extent. The group of scientists were now prisoners of war.

His interest piqued, Dugan wanted to know more about the cloning and just what the group knew about Allied plans.

Once he had toured the inlet, the officer had decided to wait on bigger and better results. Things changed forever. Dugan brought to their home distrust and the thirst for dominion and greed.

He and his men knew they had the upper hand. They gathered up the male children and schooled them into killing machines. What could they have done? These men had weapons that would wipe the group out in minutes. Subsquent trips brought back homeless orphans to train. All too young to realize they were at an unknown island.

It was her father's idea that they develop their own espionage unit, after all wouldn't it benefit Dugan to wait until peace time? When everyone was not so suspicious?

Dugan slyly agreed. He looked forward to spending time with Doctor Avis Watt's young daughter, Sorelli.

* * *

Reyer squinted, the check point had to be close. He didn't want to flash his headlights in the dark. There. He pulled into an obscure road as another car pulled out.

Time to change vehicles and arrive at the next check point.

* * *

Christine sat back in the passenger seat. Something didn't feel right. They hadn't had any trouble loading or leaving but her nerves were strung tight.

Looking in the mirror she noticed that the vehicle that had been following them pulled off. Sighing, she rested her head back. She wished she could find a way to let Carlotta know she was well.

Plato and the kids had advised her to let it go, Machaeon and Core were bad enough, but who knew if the Phantom was still trying to fill his agenda.

She had seen the knowledge in Plato's eyes that she feared to trust him also. He had been nothing but kind placing underground networks in search of Connie, Raoul and Meg.

Drifting to sleep, Christine smiled. Plato must have a new C.D. The tenor's voice was sublime. She curled into her seat and dreamed of snuggling in a pair of buckskin clad arms.


	74. Chapter 71 Dumb Luck

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

Dumb Luck

Watching the last glider exit the plane, Dugan turned to the pilot while briskly rubbing his hands together, "Laubheimer did well. Planting that bug in a common thug's house was pure genius. Who would have thought our illustrious Ms Daae would go slumming?"

"Always pays to be curious."

* * *

Christine sat down on the edge of the bed, busily toweling her hair. Turning off the light she sleepily watched the moonlight play across her bed. She smiled as an occasional laugh wafted up from the boys' rooms.

* * *

Sighing, she turned on her side and wearily closed her eyes, unaware a silent shadow temporarily blocked the moon.

* * *

"Whoa, there are at least three out there," Shade handed Lance his night optic.

In a worried voice he informed his partner, "I can't get an answer from Phantom or Nadir."

"This is big. No way those targets will have neglected to plant weapons nearby. The best we can hope for is to enter and warn them."

Lance busily scanned the farm house desperately wishing that mere minutes before they hadn't taken Plato's guards out of the equation.

* * *

Shade crab-crawled along the house's foundation. He was in luck. The old home sported a cold cellar. Minutes later he frantically searched the damp room for another entrance.

Heaving a sigh he crossed himself. Behind a row of canned tomatoes he had found a set of stone stairs.

* * *

Lance inwardly groaned. Reyer and Darius were a good hour away. He and Shade had to make the best of it. Three targets weren't insurmountable odds, but they were clueless to what weapons they held at their disposal.

* * *

Shade oiled the rickety looking hinges and held his breath. It opened quietly. Pressing his body against the wall the young man quietly searched for Christine.

The downstairs was clear. Gingerly, resembling a ballerina he balanced on the stair railing. Using the Phantom's training, Shade stretched to the chair railing. En pointe he straddled the hall.

He heard snoring from behind the first door, continuing, he listened. The third one was quiet. Stepping down, Shade reached for his lock picks.

"One move and you are a dead man," a voice hissed behind him.

Shade held his arms akimbo, "Are you a friend of Christine Daae?"

Plato felt a familiar tic start at his jawline, "And who is Christine Daae?"

Shade huffed, "Look we don't have time for this. She is safe and I figure it is your doing. Your group is under siege as we speak. We need to get her out of here," Shade gingerly threw down his gun.

Keeping a bead on the other man, Plato picked up the discarded weapon.

Seconds later the bedroom door opened a crack, "I thought I heard voices. What's up Plato?"

"Do you know this crackpot?"

Christine peered around the door and locked eyes with Shade. She immediately opened the door and motioned for the men to enter.

"Shade," she questioned.

"Christine, there are three targets casing the place. Lance and I are the only operatives here. You need to leave, pronto."

Plato raised an eyebrow, and Christine nodded her head.

Handing Shade his weapon, the older man queried, "My guards?"

Shade shook his head, "All out for a good while yet."

Plato thought fast, "Do they have heat sensors?"

"We don't know what they have, but I would say so."

"Christine you go and follow the deer trail directly behind the barn. It will take you down to the river. There is a canoe pulled up on the bank."

"The kids," Christine asked.

"No time, I can't watch out for them if I have to fight you, gal."

Christine grabbed up a pair of shoes and lead Shade to the back door.

Detaining him for a mere second, she asked, "Lance Cousteau?"

* * *

The first glider pilot held up his heat sensor. What the heck? There were live animals everywhere!

The second stationed closer to the house had come to the same conclusion.

The third opened fire on one of the largest ones. An inhuman bellow followed.

The first pilot's eyes widened. The animals were cattle and were stampeding in their direction!

* * *

Shade gently shook Christine, "There are lights up ahead, we need to ditch the canoe."

Christine straightened up. The Eastern sky had started to flaunt pale magentas and violets across the horizon.

Shade watched as Christine paled, her brown eyes wide and dilated. She was staring at the opposite bank.

Hundreds of indigo scarabs were rushing into the water.

* * *

Finally! Lance's voice crackled over the transponder. Nadir handed the equipment to an impatient Erik.

"This is Phantom."

"Agent Lance Cousteau of Core, I have a message from Shade."

Erik snapped the transponder closed, "Nadir, drive carefully east, Dugan will have a back-up plan."

* * *

"What in the Sam Hill are those," Shade almost squeaked.

"They appear whenever the Phantom is under stress," Christine muttered.

"And you know this how?"

Christine didn't answer. The scarabs were floundering upon reaching the water.

"I had no idea there were this many, give me a paddle and let's try to leave them behind."

Her shoulders aching, Christine heard a buzzing in the distance.

"Helicopter. Can't be good for us, they are following the river."

Mouth dry, Christine tried to paddle faster.

* * *

"Take the sedan, and head toward the river, Nadir. I will be along shortly."

Erik had noticed a black Spyder parked at a residence near the University. There. He hadn't lost it. The car purred quietly out of the drive.

Erik cursed. Who lived in a three hundred thousand dollar house and left his car with only a quarter tank of petrol?

* * *

Nadir cruised the road that ran parallel to the river. The sound of a helicopter echoed on the air. The aircraft shone a light on the water and began to descend.

"Oh, Allah," Nadir hissed between his teeth. Turning off his lights he made a u-turn and headed down stream ahead of the hapless canoe. Pulling into a copse of trees, Nadir switched off the ignition and rushed to the trunk to retrieve his weapon.


	75. Chapter 72 True Colors

CHAPTER 72

TRUE COLORS

Shade pushed harder on his oar, perspiration trickling down his back. Ahead of him Ms. Daae panted with each stroke against the sluggish water.

The roar of the aircraft was almost deafening. The spotlight swept in increasing arcs from bank to bank behind them.

He thought about ditching the canoe, but neither he or his charge would make it out of the water to safety, and what of those ugly bugs?

* * *

A sycamore's lower branches bent low to the ground and Nadir hastily climbed to the first branch. The next set of limbs left a perfect 'vee' for his weapon.

Muttering prayers under his breath, Nadir took aim. He hoped Erik's special silencer held up. It was a no brainer. He intended to use the ammo with the exploding tips.

In seconds, Nadir fired three shots into the rotors. The craft tilted to its side enabling the ex-Daroga to fire through the windshield.

Two fiery figures plunged into the water. With shrill, metallic death screams the helicopter crashed behind the rocking canoe.

Nadir sighed. He didn't know how they avoided capsizing, but to his eternal relief, the small craft was heading for the bank.

A sharp pain reminiscent of fire ants radiated up his right calf. Strangely, the ground below him resembled an undulating carpet.

* * *

Searching for their benefactor, Shade spotted a figure dancing near a sedan. The person was swatting his legs and cursing.

The former Daroga braced his legs as the foreign weight tried to pull him under. The sheer number of the scarabs weighed heavily. Determinedly the insects swarmed to cover the lower part of his body.

Had Ms. Daae lost her mind? She was approaching with determined steps swinging a stick. He couldn't fight her off as well as these blasted insects!

A high keening sent shivers down his complaining spine. Relief flooded his body as the scarabs began to descend and back away, hissing at the familiar enemy.

Swinging the stick, Christine fixed a steely stare on the biting hoard. The indigo bugs retreated around the rear of the car.

* * *

Shade assisted Nadir into the vehicle. Sliding into the driver's seat he leaned over to open the door for Christine. She made an ungraceful leap and fell in on top of Nadir.

Slamming the door shut, Shade spun tires and sped south.

* * *

The water broke near a floating leather seat. Sputtering, Dugan shook his head to remove the tepid, bloody water trickling into his eyes. Treading water, he noticed the pilot was clinging precariously to a submerged limb.

Heaving in a breath, Dugan dove; his hands blindly searched for his pack in the murkey water. Lungs on fire, he found the bag entangled on a limb.

Rising to the surface he took a deep breath, unsheathing a knife from his boot. Diving once again, he used the blade to cut the strap loose.

Bag in hand, knife between his teeth, he swam toward the other man.

"Dugan...help." The man's eyes rolled open. In the thickening silence he read his partner's intentions.

"Sorry old man, excess baggage and all that rot."

One quick stroke preceded blood as it gushed into the surrounding water. Without a look back, Dugan swam toward passing headlights flashing higher up on the bank.

In a bold move, Dugan stayed on the road limping south. Within minutes a small economy car stopped.

"Hey man, were you in that 'copter wreck?"

"Yeah. Yeah, could you get me to a hospital," Dugan asked in faintly as his body weaved to and fro.

"Honey, maybe we should call the police," a femine voice sleepily advised from the passenger side," The pains are getting stronger."

"Don't think I can...," Dugan fell toward the open window. In a flash he severed the young man's jugular and opened the door. Pulling the body, he left it in the road.

One scream gurgled from the expectant mother and she too was pushed from the vehicle .

Dugan headed south.


	76. Chapter 73 Ripple Effect

CHAPTER 73

RIPPLE EFFECT

Plato sighed, as he shot the injured pilot in the head. A myriad of faces temporarily swam before his eyes. Ah yes, there were many reasons he had others do this type of thing.

With a deep breath he surveyed the carnage in the barn yard. Luckily the pilot's cohorts were finished by the herd.

The teens were in scattered groups, eerily quiet. Fresh perspiration prickled the older man's forehead. An unfamiliar feeling akin to panic tore at his stomach. Life had taken a drastic change.

These weren't hired henchmen, to leave to their own devices. They were nothing but street savvy, world-weary teens who were now his responsibility.

"Watch out," Brennan's shout shattered the air.

With a curse, Plato fell to the ground. Blindly he aimed in the direction of the woods, "Identify!"

A calm baritone answered, "Shade's partner, Lance Cousteau."

Sadie sidled up behind Plato, gun drawn, hands shaking, "You believe him?"

Ribs aching, Plato reached up and gently pushed her weapon down, "Don't have any choice, Sadie girl."

Arms held high, Lance left the safety of the trees.

Several hours later as the guards were revived, Lance helped discard the evidence and dispose of the bodies.

* * *

Plato frowned, "Let me get this straight. There are two-maybe three rogue groups and two professional agencies trying to pick up Ms. Daae? I sure played her Huckleberry."

Lance placed a hand on the older man's shoulder, "She did what she had to do to locate her daughter."

" Cool as a cucumber, that one."

"She has been on the run for over twenty years. You can't do that and not become somewhat hardened. For what it is worth, she is the real deal. She would have found a way to leave your company before anyone was hurt," Lance offered.

"Rubbing his ear, Plato responded in an embarrassed tone, "Can't hold that against her."

* * *

A shrill squeal sounded downstairs and Carlotta felt a chill run up her spine. She found Summer doing a happy-dance, waving a transponder in the air.

"Have you lost your senses?"

"Christine has been found!"

The transponder crackled over the air. Lance's voice sounded tired and edgy,"Our team has grown exponentially."

Summer quickly transcribed a coded message as Carlotta read over her shoulder.

"First thing, tighten security, Darius and Reyer should be back within the hour. Keep a look out for a creep by the name of Louis Laubheimer. Late forties, five-ten, obese, dark hair and eyes.

"He is a small time con with the ability to make impressive connections, ie working with Dugan. Speaking of Dugan, Nadir Kahn shot his bird out from under him. The scum offed his own pilot.

"A young couple was found knifed on the highway, whoever it was used the same edge the pilot was finished with."

"Phantom, Ms Daae, and Mr. Kahn are going off road and off the grid for a few days. Their transponder is krunked up, we only have intermittent contact with them.

"I need Alan to help me find lodging for the rest of our new recruits."

Summer picked up the transponder and headed for her cubicle.

"Hey wait," Carlotta sputtered.

"Are you really going there, Carlotta," Summer smirked.

Carlotta slapped her forehead as the other woman closed her door. She understood. Lord have mercy-she understood. A blush crept up her neck. Thanks to Alan.

* * *

Using the last of the petrol, Erik ditched the Spyder. He now had to hike to rondevous with Nadir and Shade.

The tall man growled. His head ached. What was he doing? He should leave Ms. Daae in Core's capable hands. The woman had proved to be nothing but trouble. Anger rushed through him like a high wind. His plans and hopes were shredded tatters thanks to her.

An aggravating, new voice whispered in his mind that he did at least owe her his thanks for the change to his body. She was either incapable, or plain reticent about helping with his face. Shrugging, he studied the sky. It didn't matter... they were both one and the same.

He couldn't coerce her. For the first time he felt his age, all he wanted to do was retire and lick his wounds. His shoulders sagged. So much for a normal life, family, wife...

* * *

"Thanks for the help with those mummy munchers," Nadir offered. The silence in the car had become unbearable.

Christine's nerves were tied up in knots, "Shade would you please let me out in the next town?"

Shade stared in the review mirror in consternation, "What?"

"I can't stay and be a danger to anyone else," Christine mumbled.

"Erik won't like..."

"I don't care what the Phantom doesn't like," Christine interrupted Nadir,"His plans were a failure. As I see it, my continued presence would be a liability to the rest of you. He no longer needs me, because I _cannot_ restore his face.

"The Core operatives are assisting me in saving my daughter and friends. I should never have involved Plato and the kids in my problems."

"You aren't the only healer left, we can collaborate."

" Holy moly! You aren't saying...," Shade slapped the steering wheel.

"Rogue healer, extraordinaire, at your service," Nadir quipped.

Nadir eyed the young man and shrugged, "I just found out that Erik has known about me for decades.

"Hmmmf!"

"There is safety in numbers, Ms Daae," Nadir tried another tack.

"Not my experience, Nadir," Christine rubbed her temples.

Looking at the road signs, she ordered, "Next exit, Shade."

"If I do say so myself, if we let you out at a street corner in those clothes, the cops will arrest you in no time," Nadir cocked a brow.

"There he is," Shade pulled off at a rest-stop.

Erik slid in the back and stiffly nodded at Christine while he eyed her muddied nightgown.

"What are you looking at," Christine groused.

"Nothing. Certainly nothing at all, " Erik returned snarkily.

"And what is that suppose to mean?"

"Just what I said, nothing..."

"Oh, not again," Nadir placed his head in his hands.


	77. Chapter 74 Close Inspection

CHAPTER 74

Closing In

"I will do absolutely fine in a room by myself," Christine crossed her arms, exerting her best stern nurse persona. She shot a narrow eyed glare at Erik in response to a sarcastic snort.

"We can't take any chances right now with Machaeon. Especially with our transponder on the blink."

Nadir rubbed the beard stubble on his cheeks, "I don't think the desk clerk in this one-horse town will forget a pretty woman with a man with dreadlocks. Nor a terrorist look-alike such as I.

"Erik can be unloading the car, back to the window with his hood up to hide the mask. Sorry, but we will have to list him as your husband."

Shade tilted his head in thought, "We homeboys might raise suspicion, but the clerk wouldn't suspect Ms..."

Erik interrupted his friend, "Maybe it is the _mask_ she objects to," he snarled.

Christine gritted her teeth into a parody of a smile, "No, my dearest _husband _it isn't your looks that offend me. It is your shiny personality, love filled disposition and..."

"Just how long has this gone on," Shade groaned.

Nadir shrugged, hastily 'getting the heck out of dodge', to check into the small motel.

* * *

A few minutes later while Nadir kept up quiet small talk with the desk clerk, his swarthy face paled. The clerk nearsightedly leaned over to peer intently at a small television on the wall. Checking his watch, he turned the dial to the local news station.

"Breaking news. No new information as of yet on the helicopter crash on Buffer River. We reported at six, that the pilot's body was found submerged under debris down stream. Sheriff Robert Skipper is calling this a homicide.

A woman's voice took over, "In a bizarre twist, a thousand yards down Lakota Road, two bodies were discovered. Descriptions are being withheld, pending notification of next of kin."

The card keys stuffed into his pocket, the weary Daroga ambled out to the car, "Rooms 1-7 and 1-8. The crash is all over the news. They found the pilot's body. The media flashed his picture, it isn't Dugan.

"My concern is the fact that a couple of other bodies have been found on Lakota Rd."

"Dugan," Erik opened the room with a shrug.

* * *

No plan as of yet, Christine ignored Erik, and plopped down in the room's only chair.

Gingerly resting against a headboard, Erik placed ear buds in his ears, crossed his ankles and seemed to retreat into his music player.

Shade found them that way in a rapidly darkening room. Cautiously he flipped on the light. The young operative placed a bag of food on the rickety round table, he pitched two plastic bags on the beds.

"Food and clean clothes, Boss."

Erik nodded to Christine. Munching on a cheeseburger, she peeked into the bag on her bed. Clean clothes!

She shot a grateful smile at Shade, and thanked him.

With a questioning look at Erik, Shade left.

She made short work of her meal and eagerly grabbed the bag. She determinedly headed for the bathroom. Once in, she stared at the rickety lock. No, she wasn't going to try to lock it. She'd show Mr. Phantom she wasn't afraid of him.

With tired eyes, Erik examined the greasy restaurant bag, Erik listened for the lock. Uneasy, he noticed the shower start. The smell of shampoo and soap soon permeated the musty room.

He couldn't understand why he felt like a pervert. He had no problems at the cabin. Erik began to pace. He, Erik was in the room with a woman showering. Well, not the same room... She would be naked...Erik shook himself. Of course she would be naked!

The thing was she wasn't trying to escape.

His ears picked up the sound of a sad hum. He couldn't hear much over the groan o the rusty pipes. He felt his throat tighten. She was showering, she was naked and she was singing...

With an oath he stumbled over the shoes in the middle of the floor. One small ballerina flat in hand, he noticed something tucked inside one.

Long skeletal fingers pulled a crumbled picture out. He groaned. It was his copy of Ms Daae and her soldier-husband.

The shower cut off and he hurridly stuffed the picture back into the shoe. Wasn't his problem. He didn't have to reveal how he procured the picture.

Erik's body stiffened, his ears picked up Christine's exit from the restroom. A waft of vanilla preceded her.

* * *

Glad the shirt and jeans fit, Christine felt much better. She continued to ignore Erik, and sat down on the bed to run a brush through her hair.

Not sure what to do with himself, Erik watched out of the corner of his eye. She was beautiful as a brunette but she looked like a gamin fairy in the shorter do. Guiltily, he realized she had recently lost weight, looking frail.

Would Dugan have found her daughter if he hadn't upset the status-quo at the reservation?

* * *

Christine finished her hair. Was her room-mate avoiding the bath? She certainly didn't intend to walk in on him.

A mischievous idea crossed her mind. She sniffed. Looking under the bed she sniffed again. Hastily she pulled a tissue and covered her nose.

Watching her antics, Erik raised a non-existent brow under the mask. What was she insinuating?

"Do you smell that? Smells like there is a dead mouse in here."

Guilty feelings fled, "Are you saying I smell like something dead?"

"You? No. But something stinks."

Erik, rose to his full height to swipe up his bag of clothes. Without another word, he stomped to the bathroom.


	78. Chapter 75 The Maiden's Decision

CHAPTER 75

The Maiden's Decision

Thoroughly insulted, Erik undressed. He gently pried off his mask with a tortured groan. The sight in the mirror was horrific as always, but so many hours under the plaster had opened up old wounds.

Fists clenched, Erik mentally berated the aberration staring at him from the mirror. It was bad enough not to possess a nose, but draining pustules were an added insult.

Hands clenched on both sides of the sink, the Phantom hung his head. What on this earth had made him think he had a chance at being a normal man? Living a normal life?

Hope. What in sam-hill had possessed him to hope? What good thing had ever happened to him? A small voice whispered,'Nadir and Rookheya'.

Nadir had paid a high price for hope...the loss of Rookheya and Reza.

Stepping under the shower the melancholy man welcomed the sting rising on his face, maybe it would obliberate the burn in his heart.

In a fit of pique, Erik turned the faucet all the way up. Maybe the hot water would take the forever chill from his body. Yes, thanks to Ms. Daae, it _looked_ like any other lanky man's, but his skin continued to be as cold as a corpse.

He grit his teeth and welcomed the pain...pain was familiar...pain had been mother and father, sister, brother and steadfast friend. When? When had pain become not enough?

When had the seductive temptress called espionage lost her luster? Desert sunsets and countless nights strolled through his tortured mind. How long had he lived in the moon's constant shadow, forgoing the warm rays of the sun?

Soft operatic strains filtered the edges of his conscience. Where once he had adored the precision of the notes and the repetitive artistic voices, now he felt drained and empty.

Music waited for him at countless airports, she had kept him company during sleepless nights. The lady was once the star of his day dreams, and fearless guard against night-terrors.

He couldn't have done the things he had without this once faithful mistress. Turning off the water, he stepped out. Toweling off his lobster red skin, he turned to retrieve his mask.

He frowned, had it fallen into the garbage can? No. It was gone... Eriks mind turned to the adjoining room. No. She didn't! Angrily he dressed.

Christine looked up when he allowed the bathroom door to hit the wall. Nonchalantly she continued to clean the object in her lap.

Erik stalked up before her as he tightened his belt. At full height, thin lips drawn, he stood like a skeletal statue.

Several minutes passed and she continued to work as she hummed. The Phantom's eyes flashed as he held out a thin, muscled arm.

"Madame, if you will..."

"You're welcome," She almost chirped, "The germs would have grown like wildfire if you hadn't cleaned it before you returned it. Go sit on your bed and I will attend to your face."

Erik knew he wasn't a stupid man, but the words failed to register. The world must have turned upside down. This slip of a woman dare order the 'Phantom' around?

Standing up she ducked under his raised arm, "It won't take long, it is a wonder sepsis hasn't set in.

Christine reached out to grasp his arm. Erik's eyes dilated as he began to back away from her. The edge of the bed caught him by surprise and he sat down on the mattress.

"Good. I have some triple antibiodic here, hopefully this one dose is all we need."

Erik watched in confusion, she looked him in the eye and smiled! Suddenly his traitorous lips tingled, and he remembered the feel of her kiss.

She spread the gel on her finger and reached for his chin. Out of habit he jerked out of her reach. Christine's eyes darkened.

* * *

Life had done a number on this man.

She tried to ignore her suspicions, the overwhelming need for answers regarding the picture she found. Angrily she shook herself, she was a healer and he needed her assistance. Pity would not help him, though.

"A two year old behaves better than you," she grasped his chin in a firm grip. Gentle strokes covered the hideous, odorous lesions with the salve.

Erik kept his gaze down. "With your gift... how can you stand to look...and now the smell... He gasped with a flail of his arms. Her eyes were wide open and resolute as she placed her perfect forehead to his.

This time there was no resentment or anger in her gaze. No signs that she touched him under duress.

One corner of her pink lips lifted as she gently pushed his arms down.

"Shh, shh," she placed her cool hands on his abomination of a face and stroked the asymetrical planes and valleys embedded there. Those tiny hands were soft and cooling, leaving a wintry trail behind them.

Delicate digits traced where his eyebrows should be; to trail down his beardless cheeks. Her thumbs reached into his sunken eyesockets and gently closed his eyes.

Confident fingers left his face to thread through thin, damp hair. She continued to stroke until she felt him begin to relax. Her long lashes tickled his forehead as she closed them.

Erik felt his muscles relax. The sensation was not unlike trying to float in a heated pool. His eyes drifted closed on their own. Christine's breath reminded him of mint that grew by a clear mountain spring.

His arms felt weighted down, pleasantly lethargic. His heart rate slowed with the onset of unaccustomed contentment.

Christine paced her breathing, trying to reach that place where healing flowed. Behind her eyes she saw the ripples of a volcanic spring, and inhaled the brisk aroma of wet earth.

She trailed her fingers in the warm water. Her body shivered. Senses on high alert, she found herself submerged in the silken liquid.

Brown eyes flew open. The water had turned mostly solid. Two strong arms were around her and her cheek rested against a muscled chest. Unaccountably, she felt at peace for the first time in years. The woman tentatively allowed her hand to explore the muscles beneath her cheek.

Content she waited for the master healer to pass through her. Large hands stroked her long, dark hair. Humming, she hugged the massive torso. Before long a beautiful tenor voice tentatively rose, wrapping exquisite harmony around her wordless song.

Familiar lips trailed down her temple, tracing a scorching path toward her lips. Heat rocketed through her body. She simply forgot to think. Forgot Core, forgot Raoul and Meg and worst of all, for the time being, her daughter.


	79. Chapter 76 Mardrom

CHAPTER 76

MARDROM

The chance to be idle didn't come often. Thick tenacious, tentacles of fog melded with the volcanic pool's sheltering, heated mist to luxuriously caress heated skin. A cool wind whipped, lazily feathering dark tresses across the brave's chin.

Inhaling, mesmerized by their seductive tickle, the Otkon Ghost closed his eyes. The brave's ears picked up a myriad of fey voices taunting him in a malicious whisper from the woods.

Kalona Alinski gazed thoughtfully into the distance, he acknowledged with irritation that this new emotion was all-together unsettling. Why , the blood of ancient warrior-chiefs flowed in his veins! He was born and bred for war, not for stolen moments of peace.

Arrogance flooded his soul as the spectre called, Pride suffused his conscience. Not that war had stopped his numerous other conquests. Puffing out his chest he relished the light feminine strokes that skimmed across his belly.

He was not a poor man. The Iroquois, Wassamasaw, and Cherokee peoples left riches yearly as gifts to the Angel of Death. He had raided practically every village across the eastern coast. An unstoppable force, a favorite of the Otkon. Not totally human, an entity that supernaturally possessed and destroyed. The Ghost of Otkon excelled in possession.

The woman at his side was one thousands. Cruel lips lifted. Several tribes offered child sacrifices of those thought to be sired by him. Kalona placed his head on the moss covered bank. He gave in to the ministrations of his partner. Hissing through his teeth, he reveled in the quiver of sensitive skin under her touch.

Reality faded, who...what? Strange hands ran seductively across his body! Kalona sat up, sloshing the heated water. The woman at his side raised up, limpid eyes on his. His heart sped up. How did he get in this position?

In a panic, he raised his hand to his face. He felt familiar _skull-like_ features? Confusion played havoc in his mind. These peculiarities were familiar, where they not? In a panic he ran his hand across a non-existent nose.

A -pitched buzzing sounded an alarm in his ears. What had happened to his flawless, handsome face? Kalona, heaving in great gulps of air, looked down...In disbelief, a keen left his lips.

The sight that met his eyes paralyzed him. His godly body had been replaced by a rotting corpse. Unable to believe his senses, he watched the corpse-like appendages blur in and out of focus. Another unfamiliar, thin body superimposed its image with the parchment like one.

The woman sat up and rubbed her gentle hands across the caricature that was his face. Her serene expression never changed as she leaned in to place her forehead against his. She must have poisoned him! Kalona reached up to push her away... the man hissed in terror as the tips of his fingers exploded. Hundreds of indigo colored bugs rushed from the wounds, singing and paying homage. Kalona slowly closed his eyes, hands clutched into claws as unfamiliar memories flooded his mind.


	80. Chapter 77 Unbelieveable

Chapter 77

Unbelieveable

Insurgence. Raoul wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. What was he doing? He had sworn to 'do no harm'.

Laughing brown eyes paired with a girlish giggle echoed in his memory. The doctor rubbed his chest as he uselessly tried to assuage the pain in his heart. Christine!

Raoul obeyed a strange compulsion to surreptitiously peer out of the corner of his eye. Air hissed between his teeth in a troubled sigh.

He easily found Meg, face pale in the torch light, somberly listening to Sorelli with the others as the leader described the unexplored caverns below them with a dry, military precision.

Anxiety gripped Raoul's stomach. At this rate, he'd be lucky not to develop an ulcer. When had his lifetime relationship with sweet Christine morphed into this… _feeling_ for Meg? It felt...adulterous.

Raoul's weary eyes traveled around the small cave. Hawke's healers were engrossed in the description, all except for the young grouch, lounging against the wall. What was his name? Oh yes, Roy.

Of all the strangeness he had been recently exposed to, Roy should not have been the hardest for Raoul's scientific mind to compartmentalize and trust. The others showed the whole gamut of emotions one would expect from a kidnap victim, but not that young man. Labile. reactionary teen hormones were a disaster waiting to happen.

Roy exuded a blatant, angry demeanor. He stood aloofly away from the others head down, hands in his pockets. Raoul expected the rebellious teen's eyes to bore a hole in the limestone floor.

None of them had the time or patience to deal with him. Hearing footsteps behind him, Raoul ended his observation and turned to whoever it was intruding on his reverie.

Joining Raoul, Sorelli had stopped speaking to wave a hand to Hawke, "Mr. Hawke will choose a team to go underground. I will return with the rest and stall."

Hawke nodded for Raoul to join him. "Should we start with Xandra?"

Studiously Raoul nodded slowly, "Her ability to bulk up her muscles more than likely will become handy."

Hawke nodded in acknowledgement.

"John's ability to perceive thoughts will thwart surprise attacks," Raoul advised.

"Yeah, that would be a plus. Mia's small stature might be useful," Hawke offered as he observed the others talking quietly among themselves.

"Mia heals old wounds, but we need someone that can do it in an acute situation," Raoul made a moue, furrowing his brows, "What about Gloria? She can attend any acute trauma and Mia take over later."

Hawke crossed his arms, deep in thought, "So, we have John to ward off oncoming attacks. Mia to sneak through tight spots and help with trauma. Gloria for first-aid and Xandra, and I for muscle. You, Doc, will help with muscle and trauma.

Raoul once again perused Meg, "I hate to leave her behind. I don't know which would be most dangerous, finding Connie or staying where Dugan can crop up at his leisure."

Hawke rubbed a hand across his chin, "We can't all vanish at once. It is a good thing we aren't all housed together, it would be harder to cover for our disappearance."

"It really makes it chancy for the healers," Raoul mused.

Unwilling to interrupt, Sorelli had earlier eased up to the group and listened to their plans, "I have a couple of loyal soldiers I can slip in place of some. Mia will be hard to replace, though.

"I know you want to check in on Miss Daae, Doctor De Chagny, but I need your background at ground zero. I cannot leave the work of my ancestors to Dugan and his men.

"Diffusing experiments and hiding and storing records can't be left to just anyone. Plus, we need to keep Dugan's watchdogs from finding out. Might I suggest young Roy over there?"

A pain started in the back of Raoul's neck. Decisions! Being able to find Christine's daughter or...watch after Meg? His physicians mind said that duty rested with finding Connie but his heart wanted...what?"

Raoul noticed the others waiting for his response, "Not to be argumentative, but I trust him the least," Raoul spoke succinctly.

"Better the enemy you know, than the one you don't know," Sorelli quoted, "He is just young. I do believe he has undiscovered talents, if anything he can probably get more mileage out of the horses than the guards."

Hawke whistled, Roy raised his head. Crooking a finger, the brave indicated for the teen to approach the group.

"I'm not a dog you can just whistle for, Chief," the teen sneered.

Unruffled, Hawke stared into a pair of defiant green eyes, "Can you use a gun?"

"Can I use a gun," Roy mimicked, "What do you take me for?"

"How fast can you run?"

"Huh," the boy did a double take. "Run? I really don't know, but I can push a car with of speedometer of 120 to do three hundred," Roy bragged.

"Hmm. Too bad. We need a liaison, or runner so-to-speak. Oh well, you can go back to the bunker with the others," Hawke said offhandedly.

"Wait, I can't be locked up in that thing again, I'll go crazy," Roy clenched his hands.

"Will you showcase your jogging skills?" Hawke asked.

Roy nodded without hesitation.

"I'll send John outside to see if there are spies. He tried to explain to me that every individual has invisible magnetic auras that change when they come in contact with another," Raoul shrugged, "Most of it was lost on me except the fact he will definately know if someone is out there."

Hawke gripped Roy's shoulder, "Remember the pile of clams about a mile back? I want to see how fast you can get there and return. 3.43.13 is world record for the mile."

"Not trying to complain or anything, but a mile? I've been mushrooming underground for the past three weeks, a mile sounds...", Roy shrugged.

"Gather around everyone, we will be moving around outside and don't need any unwarranted noises in case there is someone out there," Sorelli ordered, "John would you please back track fifty yards for our young athlete here, and let us know if you were followed?"


	81. Chapter 78 Unwanted Meld

Chapter 78

Unwanted Meld

Raucous black birds shrouded the face of the moon as a coyote's howl faded in the distance. Mournful, low notes of a stalking screech owl chittered nearby.

A cool wind sent icy fingers to ruffle the lone feather adorning his thick hair .The unfamiliar sensation of rare goose-bumps chased a course up and down the warrior's sinewy arms.

Disbelieving fingers raked through his damp, thick, forelock. Quickly he surveyed his hands. Strong, brown appendages met his incredulous eyes.

Static electricity crackled in the air. With a shiver of astonishment, Erik felt a warm presence resting against his chest. His eyes darted to the woman leaning her head against him. A cloud uncovered the moon to reveal brown eyes staring up into his. Christine.

Her fingers were tangled in the fringes of his buckskin shirt, and a light sheen of perspiration dotted her trembling upper lip. Swallowing harshly, he tried to shake the baffling, dreamlike state he found himself in.

Christine looked down to shield her eyes from a gust of wind scattering brittle leaves and debris into the air. Instinctively, Erik pressed her head closer to his heart as he scanned the darkened landscape.

Senses on high alert he felt for the thin rope ever present in is sleeve. Gone!

The moon had once again disappeared behind thick, dark clouds. Blue lightning lit the sky around them. A flash to the west followed by one straight above them disappeared into the thunderous clouds, resembling a dangerous game of cat and mouse.

He could feel shivers rack Christine's body. Unflappable Ms. Daae seemed unable to quench the tiny movements.

Pitched low, a wail extracted itself from under the roots of the closest tree. Rising to a crescendo, it succeeded in masking the crash of thunder in the distance.

A raven stopped to rest on the lowest limb of a nearby oak. Tilting his head, he watched the couple as his sharp beak tore open a squirming, panicked vole.

The wail replicated its notes, weaving in stereo throughout the night forest. Ruffling dark, green sheened feathers, the Raven lifted off to fly past the couple, dropping a tiny fleshless skull by their feet.

Unmoved, Erik whispered, "Ventriloquism."

As if were a signal for demonic fireworks to resonate, lightning flashed across the neon, blue tinged night sky. Maniacal laughter resounded around them.

Christine squared her shoulders and braced her back against Erik. He barely heard her shout, "It's the Raven Mocker!"

At Erik's questioning look, she amended, "The Cherokee Angel of Death. Don't ask me how I know, I just do."

This Erik understood. Hadn't the appellation been applied to him more often than not?

Through the woods a glowing figure floated. Static electricity from the erratic bolts of lightning raised locks of pure white hair that writhed in Medusa-like locks. Huge black feathered wings spread behind it.

Erik couldn't make out the being's features yet.

The creature wore a long black cape that covered its lower body. Thin, skeletal arms tapered to long bony fingers tipped by talons. The laughter turned to the mocking speech of an ancient dialect.

Erik hissed as the man-bird's features morphed into focus. A death's head with sunken, golden eyes turned his perpetual smile on Christine, ignoring him.

"So. The Thunder God has chosen to challenge me at last," Slowly, insolently, he eyed the small woman.

"My knowledge is great indeed, but, why He sent this puny white-eyes to assist you-is bewildering, if not laughable."

"Leave her," Erik ground out.

An inhuman, skeletal hand back handed Erik across the jaw. He flipped head-over-heels to fall several feet away, leaving Christine unprotected. Shaking his bloodied head, Erik quickly scrambled to his feet, squatting low to face his opponent.

Never taking her eyes off the specter, Christine noticed movement unrelated to legs under the dark cape. The material bulged out at various angles resembling an infant kicking in the womb. Droplets of blood oozed from under the cloak to fall on the ground.

"Been hunting tonight, Kalona? Believe me, no matter how many souls you steal, you will always be ugly and old." Christine taunted.

Sucking in a fetid breath, Kalona Aylenski flapped his wings to rise above Christine, "Save your breath, Healer. The elder women failed. Once you were revealed to me, no woman could come a close second. An eternity sentenced to stealing souls will be as one night with you as my prize.

"With you by my side, no one will revive, and all souls will eventually be mine," Raven Mocker mimicked his namesake, shrieked, then opened his covering to reveal a human form entangled in his talons.

Christine heard Erik move behind her, thinking quickly she sprinted in the opposite direction. Kalona cackled in glee, dropping his burden on top of the approaching man.

Erik rolled a small maiden off his chest. Upon examination he found that she was bleeding from her right shoulder. A sick pallor revealed to Erik's chagrin that the woman was in shock.

The Phantom looked up to see that the specter hadn't captured Christine yet, she was zig-zagging under low limbs and around trees.

A low tortured moan left the woman's cracked lips. All of his being clamored for Erik to follow Christine. When had he cared what happened to strangers? He gave a self depreciative shrug. Since a small brunette had literally first entered his thoughts!

A small, still voice reminded him the maiden would die without warmth. Gritting his teeth, Erik tore off his shirt and tucked it around the girl. Without another look he tore after the fleeing nurse.

She had made a complete three-sixty back into the clearing. The skeletal creature was gaining, reaching out to grasp her. Erik bunched his leg muscles and launched himself at the bird man.

A tortured scream left Kalona's lips, his great wings flapped spastically.

Erik's voice would have joined the chaos but he found his mouth filled with something akin to wool. Blue green veins wrapped around him, the metallic smell of blood met his nose.

Kalona plummeted to the earth, wrapping his arms around his abdomen, hoping to ward off the excruciating pain.


	82. Chapter 79 Internal Confusion

Chapter 79

The compound's stagnant aura of inertia wore heavily upon Raoul's nerves. The familiar murmuring of the ocean did nothing to appease the crawling sensation climbing the back of his neck.

Watching the others pick their way across the terrain, the doctor lifted his head to breathe in the sea air. No help there, the crashing waves eerily morphed into a chanted requiem.

Raoul felt a slight movement on his arm. Looking down he noticed a hand perched on his elbow. Meg.

She was staring into the compound, "Are we ever going to get away from here? Surely Christine has alerted everyone she could think of. She must be worried sick about Connie. My mother has fits if she hasn't heard from me in two or three days."

With robotic movements, Raoul picked up a wayward blonde curl. Rubbing it between his fingers he answered absently, "She has enough of the General in her bones that I wouldn't put it past her to invent her own invisible plane to find Connie."

A low whistle sounded on the air. The others had disappeared into the shadows. Taking a small hand, Raoul navigated around a giant boulder.

* * *

Shrill screeches filled the night air. Kalona rolled on the ground, wings spastically trembling. The Raven Mocker wrapped crepe-like aged arms protectively around his bloated abdomen. His internal organs felt like he had eaten glass. Cursing, the spectre snarled, just wait until he applied his black magic to the human's soul. The imbecile would beg for death.

With a superhuman effort, Kalona struggled to his feet. Knees bent he examined his surroundings. Nothing. His keen ears picked up the sound of crickets as they chirped in oblivious unison. The normal night sounds were coupled with the splash of spawning fish in a nearby creek.

Kalona's pupils dilated as the outline of a hand formed through the wrinkled skin of his stomach. A tortured hiss left his thin lips as he fought down a wave of nausea.

Through the waves of pain his ears picked up a strangled gulp left by obviously human lips close behind him. Slowly turning he recognized the tiny, modern woman. Raven Mocker scanned the area behind her.

The unconscious maiden was on the ground covered by a shirt. A slow smile revealing rotting teeth pulled at his thin mouth. No sign of the warrior.

* * *

Erik tried to clear his mouth of a pervading metallic taste. An insistent pressure squeezed his body. Each contraction forced him forward along the undulating tube he was encased in. Thank goodness the warrior had a nose, it would have been impossible to keep the foreign foul smelling fluid from his sinuses with his own death's head.

A sharp pain resounded against his skull. A convoluted disc bounced off his body to reverberate against the pulsating walls surrounding him. A particularly large one roared by him to be sucked down a smaller branch.

Erik heard a muffled rhythm ahead of him. Using his nails and feet he frantically tried to stop his forward motion. The tube narrowed ahead of him and Erik found himself stuck in an open valve, fighting the overwhelming urge to suck in a much needed breath.

* * *

A cold certainty flooded Kalona. He wasn't the only human imposter. A vision flashed before his reddened eyes. Wreaking havoc in his veins was a skeleton man. One also known as death personified. He knew he wasn't the only Raven Mocker in the world. But the other made a fatal mistake, he Kalona had centuries to hone his skills. Only he knew how to bring the best offerings to the Great Spirit...the innocent.

As the harbinger of death he could slip by the medicine men and snatch the last breath before the learned ones arrived. It would take many souls to purchase the white healer.

This one could not even be counted as a mere rival, no, this being was his most deadly enemy. The skeleton man had usurped the human body that Kalona occupied these past centuries. He needed that vessel. It was his uncommon looks that disarmed potential victims.

The skeleton man's writhing almost upended him. He had to think fast. Standing tall, large wings unfolded with a rush of wind. Arching his back, strained winged muscles tightened and Kalona flew toward the moon. Spiraling heaven ward long dark wings temporarily blocked the moon's light.

He would rid his body of this parasite.

* * *

Christine gasped, did she see a hand appear inside the creature's stomach? Erik had disappeared upon his collision with the winged man. Could it be? She had seen enough disturbing truths lately.

One thing for certain, she couldn't fly. Scuttling back to the maiden, she chafed the ill woman's cold hands, "Please if you can hear me, what can be done?"

Unfocused eyes opened, and the girl licked her chapped lips, hoarse voice barely audible. "Only good can overcome evil." Licking her lips, she started to hum. "These notes will bring the skeleton man forth."

* * *

Kalona continued to push himself, his muscles protesting. The Great Spirit would not trap him! The Raven Mocker's breath turned into gasps, his body craved oxygen. The thinning atmosphere provided less and less to his starving lungs.

He hoped this would work. It depended if the ugly one was in an oxygenated part of his body. He hoped he was far from his lungs.

The Raven Mocker slowed down as another pain shot through his body. The skeleton man's death throes would take a while to heal. He would ignore the skeleton man's

Then he heard it. High tinkling notes, rare and valuable.


	83. Chapter 83

Chapter Eighty

Impromptu Seduction

Hand at her throat Christine struggled for breath. She was emotionally numb, unable to feel her perspiration drenched clothing. The Maiden's groan barely registered as the woman stretched to grasp her other hand.

Feeling guilty, the nurse assisted the other woman to sit up. Absently Christine noted the color had started to return to the girl's pretty face.

Christine almost laughed, if there was a time to panic and turn pale... now would be it. Anxiously scanning the sky, she noted the faint purple glow over the horizon that marked the impending rise of the sun. One by one the stars faded as the silvery moon light dimmed.

There. A faint winged figure appeared in the dawn. Waiting for her nemesis, Christine rubbed her arms nervously. The trees surrounding them began to rustle. Low whispers echoed in stereo. Alarmed, Christine realized too late they were surrounded.

Kalona was fast approaching, vicious talons outstretched, "The Raven Mocker returns," whispered the Maiden. Tension crackled upon the air as wavy figures exited the forest from all directions.

Placing herself in front of the Maiden, Christine picked up a branch. With a circling crouch she waited. Her breath hitched in her throat. The translucent figures from the woods would arrive before Kalona.

"Not to worry my friend," the Maiden smiled wearily, her voice notably stronger, "These are the elder women of ancient days."

Christine's eyes widened as gnarled, parchment-like countenances emerged from the shadows. Gently one of the wizened women pulled her aside to assist the Maiden to her feet.

Whispered chattering stopped. The forest fell silent as a regal figure draped in bearskin appeared. The other women stepped back allowing the woman to walk unimpeded.

Stopping in front of her, the newcomer narrowed solemn black eyes to search Christine's face. Glancing up she noted the Raven Mocker's speeding approach. Darting her burning stare back to the nurse, she smiled wryly, "You now take the Maiden 's destiny, Healer."

A thin, long nailed finger lifted Christine's chin, "The Great Spirit trusts you with much." At the authoritative flick of her hand the others faded back into the woods.

The Maiden straightened proudly. She looked over her shoulder with a knowing confident smile. A curt nod and she too joined the others in the fading mist.

A wave of dizziness assaulted Christine. She released the breath she had been holding. Looking down she realized the Medicine Woman had placed a leather pouch around her neck. Wiping her forehead, Christine heard a faint voice whisper, "This holds your Totem."

A gust of fetid air rustled her damp curls. Kalona was upon her. He roughly grasped her arms, pinning them to her sides. With a flap of his wings he lifted her off the ground, "Rid me of these vile bones, woman!" He grinned when she shook her head to the negative.

"If you join me, I will let him live."

Christine quit kicking her dangling legs to mentally scramble for an alternative, "What makes you think I care if he lives?"

He narrowed his eyes angrily, leaning in toward her head, "You. Try. My. Patience," Kalona hissed into her ear. Observing her reaction, screaming in frustration he shook Christine, simultaneously relaxing his grip so that she plummeted to the ground.

"Please God, give me the courage," Christine prayed as she struggled to her feet. Kalona had landed beside her doubled over in pain. She could see the outline of small, frantic hands and feet struggling within him.

* * *

Erik regained his faculties lost along with the dwindling oxygen. What was going on? No. She couldn't sacrifice herself for him! He punched and kicked without avail. Where was the mighty Phantom now? A sick sensation ate at him. Why didn't she stop egging the creature on? He was trying so hard to free her!

* * *

Christine racked her exhausted brain. What was it the Maiden said? Oh yes, the intoxicating set of notes. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth and allowed the music to fill her. The seductive aria coached the noises of the forest to once again still in hushed awe.

A flood of scarabs scrambled from under leaves and logs that littered the forest floor, clicking and squeaking in glee. Determinedly walking toward the Raven Mocker, Christine tried to shake off the evil that attempted to permeate her being. Pain squeezed her heart.

Still holding his abdomen, Kalona looked up to grin wickedly, "However you choose you cannot win!" he gloated.

Christine stared into glowing red eyes and licked her lips. She took the rotting skin between her hands and pulled his red gaze even with hers. Swallowing convulsively, she placed her forehead to his.

Inhaling deeply of her unique scent, Kalona watched the moist lips draw closer. He would have this woman as his own. When her head touched his forehead he jerked spastically. His mind filled with her seductive gaze.

Christine placed her trembling arms around his neck to stare into twin pools of malice. Taking a chance on loosing Erik, she squeezed the special nerve in Kalona's neck. With a moan he fell to the ground.


	84. Chapter 81 Down Once More

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

Down Once More

Sighing, Christine acknowledged that it didn't matter how evil the person was, she was to always try to help at first. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at the encroaching scarabs, hand on hip. The miffed creatures reluctantly stopped to allow her access to the Raven Mocker's side.

Kneeling, with a professional air she took his carotid pulse. She noted with a rare hint of sadistic satisfaction that the old man's body was limp with limbs askew.

Now, how to get to Erik? Before she could react, Kalona's mouth fell open. Reminiscent of a sand storm, he blasted her with hot saliva riddled air. Her eyes! Jumping to her feet she tore off her shirt to dab at her tearing orbs.

The pain was excruciating. She didn't know to rub them... or not. Placing the shirt to her face she continued to dance in circles. Occupied for the moment she was caught off guard when two thin arms grasped her around the waist.

Kalona! Fright warred with repulsion as she tried to fight him off.

"Hush, hush, shhh…let me help you to the creek."

Christine nearly collapsed at the sound of Erik's unique voice. He picked her up cradling her head to his shoulder. With a spurt of adrenaline, he sprinted toward the sound of running water.

Christine gagged. She didn't know which hurt worse, her eyes or nose. The stench of fetid blood would singe the nose hairs off a skunk. How did Erik stand it? Choosing silence, she fought back her nausea.

The Phantom gently laid his burden on the stream's mossy bank. Prying her fingers loose from her shirt he dipped it into the water. Immersed in his task he ignored Christine slowly crawling toward him.

Turning around he almost tripped over her. Realizing Erik was about to tumble into the stream, Christine blindly reached out to help him.

Immediately a hot blush infused her face, and she instinctively pushed him away. A muted yell followed by a splash were testaments to his fall.

Within seconds she blindly joined him. Fighting the water, she was severely discombobulated. She sighed in relief when he helped her sit up. Immediately the Phantom placed the wet cloth to her eyes.

"I do believe we have done this before, Madam," he drolly mused.

He would remember that awkward dip at the cabin, Christine thought as she opened her eyes. Although blurred, she could see Erik with a frog lounging on his head.

Pointing to his head she giggled, "Ribbit!"

Erik frowned, "I worry about your sanity." Gently he placed the amphibian back into the water.

* * *

Christine wrapped her arms around her waist, leaning into the fire Erik had started. Staring into the dancing flames, she realized she hadn 't asked how he had exited Kalona's clutches.

Erik looked everywhere but at Christine. How did one converse with a woman who just minutes ago had a stranglehold on your man parts?

The strange duet had retraced their steps to where they last seen Raven Mocker. The crone had obviously transformed back into his youthful body, abandoning his clothing. The brave was long gone.

Now that Kalona was once again a man, Erik could easily have tracked him down. Christine would have held him back though. Rubbing his chin, he mused: unless in her presence he could fly…. or something. Erik shook his head in disgust.

"Erik how did you…erm…exit Kalona?"

Erik looked up mismatched eyes sober, "With the same stuff that doused your eyes."

Christine's mouth made a circle, "Ohhh."

"We need to go before dark and not leave ourselves open for shape-shifters or the long dead. Oh yes, and find a clothesline."

"Clothesline?"

Erik gave a quick glance to the ruined shirt barely covering her middle, back to his bare chest, "We need to procure clothes without being seen in public."

* * *

Erik stopped to snarl at the midday sun, "Erik thinks we have passed this tree four times. He thinks his sojourn in the belly of a monster has taken away his sense of direction."

Ignoring the first person barrage, Christine stopped in her tracks, a finger to her bottom lip. Erik sighed, What now?

"We didn't arrive here by walking, Erik."

The Phantom rolled his eyes, shooting her an inquisitive stare. Rolling his hand for her to hurry he snarked, "And?"

"Kalona, you, whoever... and I were in a hot springs right after I tried to heal your face again. We are in a spirit realm; we can't leave like normal people."

Erik looked down frowning. She might be right.

Making up her mind, Christine walked, stride determined toward the Phantom.

Watching her body gracefully move he immediately felt his anatomy sprout to life. Groaning internally he wondered if he indeed were masochistic.

The tiny woman gestured for him to lean over. Curious, he bent over almost double. For a spy of thirty years he was mesmerized too quickly by her incredible eyes. Erik held his breath as she touched her forehead to his. Incredible, where had that come from?

Erik couldn't bring himself to acknowledge a scarab stomping its feet and grumbling in ire.

Christine held no compunction. It quite resembles a cartoon minion, was her last coherent thought.

* * *

Christine was suddenly aware of Erik pulling back. Opening her eyes, she realized they were back in the motel. Picking up the bedside clock, she felt her brows furrow, "We've only been gone several hours. It is morning."

Erik responded with a low whistle. "All that happened within our time frame. So this Raven Mocker or Cherokee Angel of death is a spirit that can manifest itself as a modern day human."

"While living in Africa, I learned about Dream Walkers." Christine offered. Noticing their tattered clothing, she sniffed, "We need a bath."

A crash sounded behind them, barely giving Christine time to throw the sheet up over her.

"Why didn't my home boys answer the door," Shade demanded. He had both hands full of breakfast items, "I wouldn't have had to kick the door in." Noticing Christine's shocked face, he shrugged, "Don't worry a child could have opened that door. I'll have it fixed in a sec., "

Sniffing he whined, "Gross, what is that smell? There is a shower in that little room in the back you know."

Noticing the made beds, Christine's high color combine with Erik's shifting gaze, Shade groaned, "You two aren't _still_ fighting, are you?"


	85. Chapter 85 Nonexistent Conscience

Chapter 85

Nonexistent Conscience

A thin eyebrow wrinkled in irritation. Liszt was doing nothing for his nerves. Pushing his worn earphones back in his shirt pocket, Erik scooted down in the bed with a resigned grumble.

The Phantom rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, determinedly squeezing them shut. Stuck in that halfway world of sleep and waking, he finally conjured up a familiar image. Tense muscles relaxed, as he sucked in a cleansing breath. He prepared to enjoy an accustomed fantasy.

The crowd hushed in awe as the colorful spotlights illuminated perfectly coiffed blonde hair. The sequins adorning the red dress glittered under the stage lights. The dress was to die for. Of course it was, he had purchased it himself.

Minutes later spiraling, angelic notes ascended from her perfect mouth as she raised graceful arms. The audience was mesmerized, as they should be…wait…wait…there it was! She hit the glass shattering high note and finished the aria that he had lovingly written for her. The audience sprang to their feet as one, clapping wildly. Mingled shouts of 'Brava' filled the room.

His heart swelled as flowers began to litter the stage around her tiny feet. Heart racing in anticipation, Erik swallowed, tracing the ring box in his pocket. The first bow was always for her Maestro. Only him. Unafraid he awaited her accolades, why shouldn't he? The Healer removed the curse of his face long before they met, he looked like any other man now.

With one flowing motion she turned, curtseying and allowing the audience to applaud him. Jade- green eyes rose to meet his own damp, golden ones.

A gloved hand reached for his heart, the wretched organ almost fluttered to a stop. The brave fearless Phantom felt himself back through the curtains into the shadows.

The lovely hue of success staining his ingénue's cheeks had morphed into draining, rancid pustules clinging to mottled skin. Pearlescent teeth elongated into yellowed sharp points.

Erik barely noted the screams that echoed throughout the building. His feet refused to move! He watched her manicured nails sharpened into stilettos.

She reached through the curtain to drag him out by his lapels. Keeping a firm grip on him with one hand, claw-like fingers threw a blood stained-mask at his feet.

Unholy chuckles echoed in the emptying room. She easily spanned the distance to touch his face with a hand that reeked of death. Within seconds an angry howl had been wrenched from Erik's mouth. His hard-earned face had started to melt into a facsimile of hers.

Dizzy, yet entranced by the macabre, the former assassin watched his life replay in her blood-shot eyes. Erik immediately recognized the exsanguinating form of Madam Daae's young soldier-husband.

She slowly forced him closer until his face was even with hers. Once-fresh breath turned abomination fanned across his face. "Murderer" she hissed, spittle flying.

With the pounding of an athlete, his heart raced toward inevitable explosion… with a wrench Erik's eyes opened. It took a minute to regain his bearings.

He looked over in the next bed as his roommate continued to sleep. His breathing evened out as perspiration soaked his body.

Heaving a trembling sigh, he left the bed to stand over Madame Daae. How did she do it? Sleep on like that? The Daroga would call it the sleep of the innocent at heart. She had one hand tucked under the pillow and the other cradled her waist.

Her lashes left crescent shadows across her cheeks and her generous mouth was parted slightly, soft intermittent snores reached his ears. She moved and her hand fell open. It smelled of rose lotion, but his keen eyes noted the appendage was recovering from being work-roughened and red.

He had to hand it to her, she was stubborn and strong. She had spent an inordinate amount of time in the bath last night. Piqued, he had tiptoed and listened at the door. Soft, heartbroken sobs met his ears. Her daughter's name spoken again and again.

Her healthy hue had started to turn ashen the past few days. Erik felt a prick deep within. His erstwhile nonexistent conscience? She must have lived a rough life, all due to an order given and unquestionably obeyed over twenty years ago. Not only widowed with a child but on the run, continent to continent.

Rubbing his chin he shrugged. He did not regret his action. It was his duty after all. He did regret any hardship she had to endure because of it.

He noticed Christine had colored her hair close to its original hue. As if on auto-pilot he reached a hand down to wrap a loose curl around his bony finger. Softer than velvet. He lifted it to the smell of her shampoo. He gently replaced it upon the pillow and hesitantly touched the back of his hand to her cheek.

A shiver ran up his spine. Not since that lying Delilah, Sorelli had Erik felt a woman's skin.

"Raoul" she sighed, clasping his cold hand in hers.


	86. Chapter 86 Disruption

Chapter Eighty-Six

Disruption

Erik sucked in a ragged breath, hurriedly replacing her hand on the pillow. What was he thinking? Of course it wouldn't be Erik she dreamed of… twirling around, he opened the window curtain to stare at the darkened parking lot.

Of course she whispered the doctor's name. Why would she dream of a walking death's head? A pain he thought long conquered washed across his core. Stranger still, why would he want her to?

How had he forgotten? He was an aberration. She had somehow cleansed his body, but his face and soul were still damned, forever doomed to languish behind a mask.

The phantom crushed the curtains in his hand. Not even the most powerful secret the Core possessed could rid him of this curse. He had waited years.

Sighing to himself, the Phantom didn't notice a hapless scarab sliding down the curtain. Inaudibly curses floated upon the air as one by one it gingerly straightened out suddenly crushed legs.

'This hideousness carried since your birth, not even a Healer can reverse.' Thin shoulders sagged.

The scarab shook its tiny wings sending minute particles in the air. The Phantom inhaled deeply. Erik's frame stiffened into a familiar posture.

"No matter. I will rid myself of Core and Mardom once Sorelli is stopped. I will keep Madame Daae forever if I have to… until she is able to completely reverse this hideous infection!"

Whipping from the window narrowed eyes landed on his dirty clothes. Striding over he spoke confidently, "First the transponder."

* * *

Betty sadly shook her head at the crowd facing her. Who knew that so many were unhappy to be alive in someone else's reality. Heaven only knew how often she battled melancholy, her father had been right, she was made of stronger stuff than most.

"How do we know you will go through with your promise once Dugan is captured," a voice rang from the back.

Raoul licked his lips. "Assisted suicide."

Meg whipped her head around to whisper, "What about your doctor's license?"

Sorelli stepped forward. I am leader here. I will carry through with their wishes. If you would lead me to the correct procedures, Dr. Chagny."

Raoul studied the woman silently. He had been wrong about Sorelli. A strong woman of stature _and_ character was standing before him. One that had lived a living hell since a teen.

A low rumble bounced across the room as the group discussed this new option.

Sorelli faced them without flinching, "Since time is of the essence, Dr. Chagny will have to find the quickest, non-painful method available to us."

"Ok, this group has the promise of quick release, what about the others who want to stay?"

"That is why, you all are given one more night to decide if this is what you want to do. You will be our eyes and ears. Dugan has commandeered all our modern weapons. This will be a battle of primitive proportions."

A sad eyed woman stepped forward and the crowd fell silent, "What about the children, Sorelli?"

"I cannot condone the suicide of a child. They will be given a choice as adults when they can make informed decisions."

The woman nodded as most in the room nodded in assent.

Sighing Sorelli nodded to the bed rolls stacked in the corner, "You understand I can't let you go back to the others. If you have spouses and children you want to say goodbye to, we will rendezvous with them in the morning."

* * *

Sorelli wiped a weary hand across her face, "You understand these are people I've watched grow up and become close to."

Raoul grasped her shoulder and turned her toward him, "They are the most dangerous. Men and women who want to live at all costs. Fear and mistrust will predominate in this unspeakable position that we find ourselves in."

"Divide them into groups to hide the data, bury it and take shifts in sleeping. They will be the second wave in the attacks," Sorelli turned to Raoul, "Are you sure Hawke will be successful? Not only is Connie Daae at stake, but she is incarcerated where the children are kept. He will have to supervise their escape."

Without preamble, Meg slapped Sorelli. Setting her jaw, eyes narrowed the officer stared into her attacker's face.

"How could you. Don't you think that was something he needed to know?"

"He did not need more to worry about during the preemptive strike. Once Connie Daae is found he will have discovered the children. He needed a clear mind to carry out the first part of his raid."

Before she could reply, Raoul placed a restraining hand on Meg's arm, "Can't be helped now. We wait on Roy's report."


End file.
